


Didn't Know Which Way Was Home ('Til I Found You)

by watchingthestars13



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Canon Retelling, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Clark Kent, Rated Teen because Language and Grief, Referring to Jason and Bruce, Schmoop, cause lets be real what superhero family is well adjusted, did i mention schmoop?????, essentially
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 182,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchingthestars13/pseuds/watchingthestars13
Summary: Clark has known the identity of the Batman for over a year, and has been dating the man behind the mask for a fourth of that time. Really though, when Clark began dating Bruce Wayne, he thought he'd signed up for tedious galas and simpering socialites. What he gets instead is a family, heartbreak, and enough love to fill his stupid big heart right up to the very brim.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Everyone, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Clark Kent, Clark Kent & Jason Todd, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Clark Kent, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Clark Kent, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 588
Kudos: 1031





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> God, here I am, back in the superbat tag! Why do they inspire me so?  
> Anyway! Hello! Welcome to a long ass work that's going to take me more time to finish than I've calculated. I've got the major plot points set up, now I just have to connect the patches. Seeing as I've had writers block for... Oh a good year and a half at least at this point, please be patient with me if the grammar is bad, or the tenses change weirdly. I'm just trying to get back to what feels natural to me. So thanks for your patience.  
> The idea for this fic came from a tumblr prompt, where Bruce adopts Dick early on in his relationship with Clark and then it follows them through the canon from there. (was this just an excuse to write young and in love superbat? no one will ever know the truth...)  
> Anyway, now that that's over with... I hope you like what I've done with the place. Thank you for reading, and Enjoy! <3

Everybody knows the story of the Waynes and their untimely demise. So when Bruce calls him at eleven PM three months and nine dates (actually ten and a half in total, but their second one was cut short and doesn't count) into their relationship, and says "Clark..." in an odd tone of his, he sighs, and considers the benefits of opening his eyes. It seems like only moments since he dropped down into his bed, but it couldn't have been.

A squinted eye at the clock proved that it had only been two hours since he got home from rescuing a young man from a burning building. "Hi, Bruce. Are you alright? You sound upset," he mumbled into his pillow, debating if he should try sitting up.

"It's... a boy."

"Should I be concerned you're already bringing a third person into this relationship, when we've only been dating for a few months?" Clark joked, and Bruce scoffed.

"He's nine," he murmured. Clark raised an eyebrow, and tuned his hearing into Bruce's heartbeat. A little more erratic than usual, and there was the tapping of fingertips against a hard surface, probably a desk. A rare nervous gesture.

"You're gonna need to give me more information than that," Clark said, finally shaking himself awake enough to sit up. Instinctively, he put his glasses on and turned the light on.

"His name is Richard Grayson. You know the circus I went to tonight?"

"Yeah," Clark said, confused.

"Him and his parents make up the Flying Grayson trio, the trapeze-artists. Or, they did." Bruce took a deep breath, and Clark felt his lips purse. "Some- some criminal cut the lines. They didn't have a net."

"God, Bruce, I'm sorry you had to see that," he murmured, rubbing his face with his free hand. He wished he could be there to hold Bruce, but he doubted he'd get away with such a dramatic gesture without scaring him off. He was skittish about showing affection when he was just Bruce, not Brucie, something Clark was trying to respect despite being a relatively needy person in comparison.

"I'm more sorry for Richard."

Clark blew out a breath, tipping his head forward. "Feeling a kinship, huh?"

"I... The boy doesn't have anybody else. The circus that practically raised him are claiming they need to get out of town as soon as possible. To _avoid bad press_." The last few words were hissed out, like he couldn't believe their nerve, the fact that they were abandoning this boy.

“Well, it seems like you’re uniquely equipped to deal with him and the inevitable break down he’s going to have,” Clark mumbled.

“I… I know,” Bruce said. “I’m just… I didn’t count on this happening. Definitely not so soon.” 

Clark grinned. “If I’m to believe what Ma’s told me, kids drop into your lap whenever you least expect it, and most want and need it.”

That, at least, made Bruce chuckle. “She would know, wouldn’t she?”

He hummed in agreement. “Did you call Alfred too? Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I called Alfred,” Bruce murmured, and sighed. “I’m at the CPS in Gotham right now. Did you know that they consider Richard an 'old' child? He's nine. How is that considered old?"

"Most foster kids over three are considered lucky if they ever get adopted," Clark sighed, thinking back to that article he'd written around a year ago, reporting on the recently wrapped up case of some bad guys using an orphanage as a way to grab kids for child trafficking. "Any older than that and it's likely they'll have to be bumped around the foster system until they're old enough to be legally declared emancipated or just age out. It's pretty gruesome."

"Hmm," Bruce said thoughtfully, like he was figuring out how to solve that problem right now in that big brain of his.

Yeah, Clark was dating a genius and he knew it.

"So this phone call was just reassurance, then?"

"Of sorts," Bruce said, and took a deep breath. "Look, I get if this is too much for you-"

"Hey, no. I mean, yes, it's a lot, but... I get it. This is something you need to do. We'll figure it out," Clark said, a hot second of panic flaring up in his stomach. He'd already lost this thing they had once, he wasn't about to let anything get between them again. 

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll figure it out," Bruce said, but he sounded relieved, exhaling sharply just the once. "I think I might have to postpone our date on Friday, though. I don't know when..."

"Maybe I can meet him then. Richard," Clark blurted, and then had to smack himself in the face quietly. "Or not. I mean... If this is a way to get out of dating me, I need you to say that, please. Though it's a very weird way."

Bruce chuckled, making the fluttery, nervous feeling in Clark's stomach intensify. "I promise it's not a weird way to get out of dating you. I think I might need some time alone with Richard before I introduce him to people, but you're first on the visitors list."

Clark smiled, feeling his cheeks heat. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Bruce said, and although Clark couldn't see it, he had an equally goofy smile on his face. "I'll call you on

Wednesday, when we're a little more settled. Okay?"

"Yeah. Want me to tell Diana if she comes over with JL stuff?" 

Bruce hummed. "No. Just say I'm busy but she can call if it's that important."

"Oh, you know she's gonna pester you if you just say that," Clark chuckled. 

"Hmm. Goodnight, Clark."

"Goodnight, Bruce. And good luck."

"Thanks." 

\---

Even if he said he'd call on Wednesday, he called once on Sunday, and another time on Tuesday, asking about JL stuff and telling Clark little bits about his new ward. 

"All he eats is cereal. I don't understand what about it is so good," Bruce said, sounding genuinely baffled himself. 

Clark grinned, twirling the wire of the phone around his finger. "He's a kid. Didn't you have cereal for breakfast when you were a kid?"

"No. I had oatmeal, or toast and eggs. I don't understand the appeal."

"They're sweet. Your little kid's got a sweet tooth, most kids do. So did I, apparently. Ma said I stuck my head in the honey jar like Winnie the Pooh every time she looked away for just a second."

Bruce gasped. "Is that why she calls you Poobie?" 

Clark saw his life flash before his eyes, and squished the phone so hard between his shoulder and face that it cracked a bit. "Oh my _gosh_. Where did you even hear that? If you ever repeat that to anyone, I swear...."

On the other side of the line, Bruce burst out laughing, and while Clark usually would've loved to hear his sweet, hard-won laughter, now it just made him mortified. Once he gathered himself, Bruce's voice came out silky and low. "Oh Clark, it's so sweet that you think you can threaten me."

"You want me to beg? I'll beg," he fumbled, turning to look over his shoulder to see if Lois was nearby. It was as if she could smell his embarrassment sometimes, like a shark drawn to blood. "It's sweet when my Ma says it, but the moment it leaves anybody else's mouths, I'll _know_ it was you."

"You'll beg, huh? On your knees for me?" Bruce asked, in that same smooth baritone, and Clark felt the flush teach the tips of his ears. 

"I- Yeah... I'd like that." 

Bruce hummed, considering. "He's not that skittish around people, apparently. He's used to bustling crowds, I guess. I think he'd like you. Maybe we should meet up tomorrow. If it goes well with you, maybe he'll like to meet Diana next." 

Clark blinked, not always keeping up with Bruce's twists and turns. "I can do tomorrow. I should be getting back to work, though. See you then?"

"Yeah, Clark. See you then," Bruce said with a soft sigh.

\---

Richard was enough of a carbon copy of Bruce that Clark had to do a double take before he saw the deeper skin tone, the different curve of his jaw, despite all the baby fat. His eyes were a darker shade of blue, too, but equally intense. Maybe it was the early life tradgedies that made their eyes look so much deeper and darker than others. He was curled up in one of the big padded chairs in Bruce's favorite library, the one that had been most frequented by his mother. Richard looked small and a little scared, curled up like that.

"Are you the boyfriend?" the boy asked, eyes intent.

Clark chuckled a little awkwardly. "Yes, I'm the boyfriend. Hi, Richard."

"Dick." Clark blinked. Okay, not the best of starts maybe. He opened his mouth to ask why he'd say that, when the boy continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "Everyone keeps calling me Richard when my name is Dick." 

"Oh," he exhaled, feeling a little better. "I'm sorry about that, Dick. Now I know at least. Nicknames just aren't on paperwork a lot. That's probably why. And Alfred's a proper English butler, meaning he's going to follow the rules of etiquette and never adress you by anything other than your full name."

Dick's blue eyes widened. "Even when I'm not in trouble?"

Clark nodded grimly. "Even then. Though, when you're in trouble, he's just gonna get more formal. When he's really ticked off at Bruce, he'll call him 'Mr. Wayne'." His attempt at a British accent wasn't great, but it made Dick giggle, at least, which was part of the plan.

"What's he call you?" he asked, eyes brighter.

"Mr. Kent, generally. On special occasions, he calls me Master Clark, but it's very rare. Just when I-" He trailed off, and shook his head. "When I'm being helpful. And to annoy Bruce."

"Why does that annoy Bruce?" Dick asked, eyes wide with curiosity. 

Clark felt his cheeks flush. "Well, you generally only call the people who live in the manor 'master'. And I don't live here."

Dick squinted at him then, a mischevious little glint in his eyes that seemed very fitting. "Huh. Is that so."

"Yeah. I mean, I've only been really dating Bruce for a few months, though we were friends before that." 

The little boy didn't look away, as if he was waiting for Clark to say something more, but before he could stammer out anything else, Bruce and Alfred came in. Alfred was carrying a tray with tea, and Clark glanced at his watch, noticed that it was in fact tea time. 

"Are we getting along in here?" Bruce asked, and while he sounded casual enough, Clark saw the little glint of nervousness in his eyes. 

"Yeah," Dick said, and Clark exhaled his relief. Bruce sat down in the padded chair next to Dick, and the little boy scrambled into his lap. From the resigned but amused look on his face, it seemed that this was the new routine. "Alfie, whas' a butler?"

"A butler, Master Richard, is the chief manservant of the house, who sees to the liquor and serving of dinners. I, however, hold a larger part in caring for this estate, as I'm the single employee," Alfred said, in an explanory tone that suggested he was very experienced in fielding little kid questions.

"I think you can take a little more credit than just being an employee, Alfred," Bruce said, stretching over Dick to get himself his mug of tea, and a cookie for Dick. "You raised me."

Alfred blinked, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion for a moment. "Well. Yes, that too, I suppose. Would there be anything else for the young masters?"

"Join us," Bruce challenged, raising an eyebrow at his butler. Dick, with a mouthful of cookie, made a sound that seemed to speak of agreement. Alfred's lips didn't twitch, but he managed to radiate disproval for a hot second. 

"It wouldn't be appropriate."

"As you said, you're the only employee. Who's going to tell?" Clark said, glancing at Bruce. "Certainly not us."

"Sit wif us Alfie!" Dick said, spraying crumbs everywhere. 

"Oh, dear. I shall get a napkin," Alfred said, moving towards the library doors without even glancing behind himself.

"I'll get you one day!" Bruce called after him. 

"Quite certainly, when hell freezes over, sir!" Alfred called back, making Bruce's lips twitch into a little smirk.

\---

Friday came, and Clark arrived at around four to pick Bruce up, and opened the door to minor chaos. Or, as much chaos as there really ever was at the manor. Child coats were tossed a little of everywhere in the foyer, and shoes strayed after them. 

A harried Bruce appeared from one of the sitting rooms, a smudge of what looked like flour on his leg. 

"Clark! I'm sorry I didn't have time to give you a call," he hurried out, dashing over to him and brushing a quick, warm kiss to Clark's lips, but with an ear out for the rest of the manor. "Dick's been... very up and down today. I don't know if it's a good idea to leave him with just Alfred right now."

"Okay, that's alright. We can just stay home, then," Clark said, smoothing his hands down Bruce's arms to try and calm him down a bit. 

"No! I don't know what's gotten into him, but he's... all over the place right now. I don't think just staying at home will help. I just- I don't know what to do with him," Bruce said, sounding a little forlorn, and Clark smiled. 

"I think I know just the thing."

\---

When Clark was a little boy, he loved the carnivals that rolled in during the summer. He'd run around the county fair with icing sugar all over his face from funnel cake despite Ma's best efforts, and at the end, he'd always walk home with some toy he'd managed to win, or one memorable year, a little goldfish. He took Lana on their first date to a county fair. It's nostalgic for him, a bittersweet memory of being younger and not Superman quite yet, not having taken that last step into adulthood.

It's not summer, and he isn't about to reveal he's Superman to a nine-year-old and fly them somewhere, so he takes Bruce and Dick to Coney Island. It's a little crowded, despite it being late September, and the heat is staggering mid-day. 

Bruce's worry-wrinkle had been between his eyebrows the whole ride there, glancing back at Dick brooding out the window in the backseat every few seconds. While he'd been bouncing off the walls in the manor, he'd drooped almost immediately when he was put in the car. He'd been feeling fine for most of their first two weeks together, but Bruce worried. There hadn't been a big break down yet, so this felt like a build-up towards it.

Still, when they got to the carnival, the little boy visibly lit up again. He shared little tidbits of information about the circus he'd been with, the elephant that had taken a liking to him and let him ride around on her a lot. Never mentioned his parents, but stared at a picture of a smiling dark haired woman on the side of a throwing booth for a few seconds longer than normal, before he snapped out of it and took off running towards a roller coaster.

Bruce won Dick a giant teddy bear in another throwing booth, and Clark used only a little bit of his usual strength to win Bruce a bear of his own at the High Striker, getting a quick kiss on his cheek as a reward. They were wearing hats and glasses to avoid being recognized, but with how bouncy Dick was, even before they ate ice cream, someone was bound to recognize him. Bruce Wayne taking in a recently orphaned child had been very publicized, making the front page of several magazines, even the ones that claimed to be serious news agencies, like Clark's own Daily Planet.

The last ride of the evening was the ferris wheel, where Dick sat between the two of them, happy to be safely up in the air. Clark pointed out some star constellations for him, and when he turned to look at Bruce, the other man had a soft look in his usually hard blue eyes. 

Bruce stretched a hand over the back of the seat on the ferris wheel, cupping Clark's jaw. "Thank you," he said softly, reverent and gentle. Clark got goosebumps just looking back, that intense gaze as firm as a caress. When he was pulled into a soft kiss, he closed his eyes and felt the swooping feeling in his stomach that he associated with flying, and he thought that he could get used to this. 

\---

The Big Break Down comes the day after Coney Island. Dick screams, throws things, and then cries until he can barely get a breath in. Only Bruce is in the manor with him, and when Clark hears it, he breaks the sound barrier trying to get to them, to comfort both of them in this time of need. 

When Clark skids into the right room in the manor, his ears filled with the sound of their heartbeats, he finds Bruce on his stomach, facing Dick who's lying on his side on the carpet.

"What happened to your parents was a tragedy in two parts," Bruce explained in a low murmur as Clark crept closer. His eyes flicked to Clark's own, and there was profound pain in them at seeing someone in the same place as he had been, once. "The first part is over, but now comes the second one, which is infinitely harder and much longer. I know you love them and you miss them, and that's as it should be. I would never dream of trying to replace them, but know that you have a safe harbor in me. I will protect you and keep you safe at any cost." 

The fire in his lover's eyes was breathtaking, and Clark sank down on his knees next to them. "As will I," he promised with the same fire in his heart, stroking his hand over Bruce's back. 

Dick blinked red-rimmed eyes open from where he was curled up on the floor. "Clark?" he asked meekly. 

"Yeah, Dick. We're here for you, honey. Both of us." 

Dick gave a little hiccuping sob, and when Bruce pulled himself up to sit, the little boy crashed into his lap, managing to topple them over the other way. Bruce curled one arm tight around Dick and stretched the other one out to Clark. When they clasped hands, Clark felt his heart beat faster. Bruce dragged him down to the ground with him, and it felt profound somehow, like a promise had been sealed. The look on Bruce's face said much of the same.

\---

Dick getting kidnapped would be a trend that Clark would always hate. However, it did lead to them spilling the beans, so to speak. Dick explored the cave under Bruce's home for roughly three minutes in stunned silence, before he began firing off questions left and right.

"So this is the bat-cave?" Dick asked. 

"Yes," Bruce agreed, glancing up at the bats chittering above them. 

"And that's the bat-mobile?" the boy asked, pointing to the shiny black car standing by the cave-opening leading out to the road.

Bruce blinked. "Hm. Yes."

"And this is the bat-computer?" Dick said, bounding over to the large screen on one of the outcroppings.

"I- Yes," Bruce agreed, an amused wrinkle between his eyebrows. Clark hid his grin behind a hand. 

"And you can really _fly_?" Dick asked, whipping around to turn big, blue eyes on Clark. 

"Yeah. Want to go for a little ride?" Clark asked, floating a foot above the cave floor and stretching a hand out towards the boy. 

"Holy moly," Dick said, almost to himself, before grasping Clark's hand and being pulled up to stand on his feet. 

Bruce understands Dick's need for justice more than anyone else probably could, and after a few months, Robin emerges, wearing bright, contrasting colors and making Bruce look more alive than ever before. They run around Gotham fighting criminals, and when Clark asks Bruce if he's out of his mind, he gets invited on patrol for exactly one night, and sees exactly how much Bruce protects the boy, how they're both having the time of their lives. 

So Clark accepts it. He stays over more nights a week than he stays in Metropolis, curling around an exhausted but happy Bruce almost every night and breathing in his shampoo, the smell of blood not entirely gone by the end of each patrol. He wakes up early, eats breakfast with a yawning but chatty Dick, and sends him and Alfred off to school before he flies off to work. 

He gets home from work and eats dinner, listens to Dick talk about his day, and if it's not a Dynamic Duo day, as the newspapers are calling them, Dick is tucked in and the adults have alone time. On weekends, they go on trips to the Kent farm, or to amusement parks, or stay home and relax. Before he knows it, he's been sucked into Bruce and Dick's lives pretty much completely, and he can't believe he was ever happy any other way. 

They have bad days, though. As all families do. 

Today had been particularly hard on them all. Dick had woken up cranky after not enough sleep and couldn't fall back asleep, and had been snapping at them all morning. Clark hadn't managed to save a little boy and his mother from a burning building the night before, and was plauged by the memories of their last, wheezing breaths. Bruce was frustrated by a case. Nobody was having a good time today. 

Dick was being snippy, and Bruce lost his patience for the first time that Clark had ever seen. He'd actually shouted, telling Dick to go play elsewhere, making Dick shrink into himself. While he looked small and alone for a moment, it took only a moment before he glared hard at Bruce and stomped right out of the room. 

"Go apologize, right now," Clark demanded, appearing in the library's doorway like a looming shadow. Bruce didn't even look up from his case files, spread on a desk shoved up against one of the rows of bookshelves. "Hey. I'm talking to you."

"I'm busy," Bruce said, making a little hand-wavey motion towards the papers, scribbling a note in the margins. 

"Not anymore, you're not," Clark declared. "You snapped at Dick for no reason. I know we're having a bad day-"

"A bad day?" Bruce said, his voice deathly calm when he finally turned away from his papers and looked up. "This is not a bad day, Clark. This is an unsolved kidnapping with possible child-trafficking ties. I'd say that's a little more serious."

"As awful as that is, you need to go apologize. Dick's having a bad day too."

"So?"

In sheer bafflement, Clark stepped closer, until he could see the sheer volume of files spread over Bruce's desk. The fact that he was here, and not in his father's study, spoke more of his mental state for the day. "What do you mean, _so_? You're the adult in this situation. You should apologize. You know better."

"He was being a little jerk," Bruce snapped. 

Clark rolled his eyes, and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. He could tell this was gonna be a long conversation.

"He's _nine_. Of course he's gonna be a little jerk sometimes. What'd he even do?"

"Said he didn't understand why he had to go to school. That learning was stupid and he didn't want to go. I'm busy, so I told him to go tell someone else who'd change their mind."

"Oh boy. I know you love him, but you can't _do_ that, B," Clark said tiredly, leaning back against the bookshelf. "I know you want to do your best, and I love that about you, but if you're really going to take care of Dick, your love and attention cannot be conditional like that. He deserves better than that."

Bruce's dark eyes were piercing as they stared him down. "Unconditional love only gets you hurt."

"Yeah? Then what are we doing this for?"

Bruce stood up from his desk and turned his head away, rubbing an uncharacteristically frustrated hand over the hair at the back of his head. "I don't... I'm not good at this. You know that."

"I know," Clark said, bonking his head lightly back against the shelves behind him. "I know. I'm not asking you to be perfect. Just, what do you want out of us then, if it isn't love? Did you take Dick into your life out of obligation, or because you didn't want a child just like you to go unloved? 'Cause if it was the second option, you have to show up for him, every day, even when he's being a little jerk."

"I don't know what I want," Bruce said, leaning against the bookshelves on the other side of the aisle, right across from Clark. "And... It scares me. I just want you and Dick, happy. With me. It's just... I know more than anyone how easy it is to have that snatched away from you."

Clark sighed, and nodded. "I know that, but I'm happy, Bruce. I'm _crazy_ happy. I love being here with you and Dick." He swallowed nervously. "I love _you_."

Bruce blinked, startled, and sank down on his knees in front of Clark, grabbing his hand and giving it a tender kiss. "I... I love you too." As the words left his lips, Bruce's eyes lit up, like he never thought he'd manage to get the words out. 

Both of them let slip nervous little giggles, like teenagers with their first crush, and Bruce sat down next to him, tangling their fingers together tighter. They pressed their lips together, gently, like they were afraid this intimate moment would be torn away from them too. 

It serves to remind Clark that they are pretty young to have a nine-year-old kid to handle. Clark is three and a half years older than Bruce, which always seems to baffle people when they find out. Clark was twenty-six when they first started dating, Bruce twenty-three, and it's only been a little less than a year, at this point. 

"When you were little and being rude, was it your mom or your dad that scolded you for it?" Clark asked, brushing his other hand up against Bruce's soft cheek. 

"Mostly mom, I'm pretty sure. Dad thought it was funny, especially when it happened at socialite parties. They always claimed I was just tired or small whenever I sassed people," Bruce said, smiling with grief at the corners of his eyes. "You?"

"Pa, mostly. Ma would tut, yeah, but Pa would tell me that being rude wasn't something Kent men were if they could avoid it. Usually sat me down to talk about moral backbones and all it would take for the world to go down the drain was for good men to do nothing."

Bruce hummed. "Don't think any of this appiles to our situation, honestly."

"Maybe not. What about Alfred? What he'd do when you were being a little prick?"

At that, Bruce smiled, pressing a kiss to Clark's hand. "When I was being rude to him, he'd look very disapproving and snort, and sass me back. When it was in public, he'd try to steer me away from the person I was being rude to."

"And _you_ turned out _fine_ ," Clark said mockingly, making the smile turn into a real grin. 

"Yes, I'm a regular miscreant, a delinquent and a culprit," Bruce said in a deadpan, pressing on Clark's shoulders until he was reclined on the floor, next to dusty books and on scratchy, deep red carpet.

"Vigilanteism is illegal," Clark pointed out. "Ma always said I'd get snatched up by some big city, bad boy and be torn away from my home." He sniffed, wiping away a non-existent tear. "I should've listened to my Ma more."

Bruce hiked Clark's shirt up, placing a possessive hand on his stomach. "Oh is that so? Don't like the big city bad boy you ended up with? Want me to go call up Lex Luthor for you?"

Clark cackled. "Oh god, stop. I regret this joke. Can I take it back?"

"Absolutely not. I've snatched you up now," Bruce grinned, placing kisses from the center of his chest and working his way down. 

"I'll have you know proper Kansas boys need to be wooed more than this. Where's the romance?" Bruce leaned up, kissed him thoroughly, and when he pulled back, they were both panting. "Okay, I can make an exception."

Bruce looked up at him from under his lashes, falsely coy. "For me?"

Clark groaned. "Get back up here and kiss me, miscreant."

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now. The DC canon is widespread, seeing as it has several different universes, and it spans over several decades with the same characters written by dozens of different people. Even I was confused once or twice when I was trying to research for this fic! Nobody's age makes sense, because how the hell can I squish 80 ish years of canon into roughly ten measly years? This is canon divergent in that Bruce and Clark are publicly dating and that means everything is a little different! If I haven't interpreted the canon the way you want, sorry! I'm not going back to change it! Good lord can I lay off the exclamation points!  
> If you have suggestions for more tags, I'm all ears!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

In the end, Bruce sat a squirmy Dick down on a couch in one of the sitting rooms, and sat down on the coffee table in front of him. "Do you know what happened to my parents, Dick?"

The boy shrugged, pointedly not looking at Bruce. Clark could tell it was bothering Bruce, so he placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles with his thumb over the blade. "Hey, Dick? When we talk about big stuff, it's polite to look at people, to show you're giving them and their topic the attention it deserves."

Dick reluctantly glanced at Clark, nodded, and then turned entirely too knowing, child-wide eyes on Bruce, like if he could, he'd stare right into his soul. "Are you going to send me back?" he challenged. 

Bruce blinked, seemingly genuinely baffled by this turn of conversation. "Send you back where, exactly?"

"Dunno. The circus? That place I was when my parents died? CTS?"

"CPS," Bruce corrected, and shook his head. "No. I... I need to explain something to you. When my parents died, I vowed to fix Gotham so that no one would ever be put in the same situation I was in, ever again. I created Batman because the police system wasn't helping, and politicians were corrupted. Batman means a lot to me, and I want to do it right. That means being hard on myself, and you, because I don't want you to be hurt." 

Dick crossed his arms over his chest. "You're mean and sometimes I don't like you!"

Bruce looked absolutely _gutted_. "I-I'm sorry to hear that. I don't want to be mean to you."

Clark took pity. "Has he told you what the case he's stuck on is about?" When Dick shook his head, Clark rubbed a hand over Bruce's back. "It's about a ten-year-old boy who was kidnapped. Bruce knows how hard it would be for him if _you_ were kidnapped and were gone for this long."

Bruce sighed. "Yes. I know you're having a bad day, and I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm having a bad day too."

Dick frowned. "We're Batman and Robin! We'll find him. You don't have to be worried." He reached out and patted Bruce's knee. "C'mon, let's watch cartoons."

Bruce seemed thrown by the change in conversational topics, but let himself be dragged to the TV-room, where Dick dropped down in Bruce's lap and made them watch cartoons. Clark watched over the next few minutes as both Batman and Robin drooped, falling asleep right there on the couch. Seeing as their late night activities usually meant a grouchy Bruce, he let them be, only getting up once to drape a blanket over them. 

At the movement, Bruce blinked his eyes open, and Clark put a finger to his mouth. Bruce glanced down at Dick, asleep on his chest, and nodded. Clark shifted the blanket a little, tucking them in, and then bent and pressed a soft kiss to Dick's forehead, and at Bruce's inquisitive, rumbly noise, he pressed a kiss to his forehead too.

\---

It's a year before Dick calls either of them dad. When he does, he sees light well up in Bruce, but also a sadness. Their similarities seem to end right then and there, never to be seen again. Clark is named Pop, which pleases him to no end. It just feels so normal, so comfortable in their whirlwind of a life.

Thursday is Date Night, with JL duties allowing, but everyone's pretty amused by Clark and Bruce taking it so seriously. Sure, Clark's had to argue quite a bit about it, but with Alfred reminding Bruce every Thursday morning that it's date night, it goes pretty smoothly.

Because of Date Night, though, paparazzi spot them. It's amusing to see how they sputter when Bruce "accidentally" toss their cameras into fountains, and just smile dimly whenever they approach him with questions.

"Please, can't you see the disservice you're doing to my wonderful date by distracting me?" Bruce said, smiling at the cameras but sweeping his wine glass towards Clark, who smiled curtly at the press. 

"Who _is_ your date, Brucie?" one of the reporters asked. 

Bruce cast a quick look at Clark, who just smiled at him, leaving it up to him. Turning it up to 100, Bruce smiled at the press. "You might've read his work before. Clark Kent of the Daily Planet might ring a bell, if you're a little educated. Of course, he knows more than I do about the press."

Clark waved awkwardly at the paparazzi gathered by their table, and for a hot second he saw Bruce's incredulous face and then his eyes flicking upwards as he shook his head minimally. 

"How long has this been going on?" a woman asks, a sharp glint in her eyes that remind Clark too much of Cat Grant for him to feel comfortable. 

"Can't we be allowed to eat in peace?" Bruce asked, all 'woe is me'. He raised his voice a little. "If I have this much trouble just enjoying a meal, what about my more famous friends? I must call them and tell them this establishment doesn't care about privacy."

"Really," Clark said, feeling uncomfortable under the harsh scrutiny of the gossip press. 

After that, it only took about a minute before they were alone at the table again, the owner of the establishment shooing the press out and hurrying to smarm with Bruce, giving them a complementary bottle of their finest wine. 

When the owner was out of sight, Bruce frowned at the bottle. "Not a great year," he murmured to Clark. 

"Should we really have said anything?" he asked, glancing at the bottle. "I mean, that poor man. I'm sure that bottle's expensive and he just gave it to us for free."

Bruce shrugged. "I'll tip them the cost then. Besides, you want to be gawked at your whole meal?"

"No! I just, well. You're ready to be... out?" Clark asked, leaning back in his chair and studying his partner. Despite some minor tension, Bruce looked good, wearing a dark suit with an artfully ruffled shirt underneath. It was open a little at the throat, making sure little wafts of Bruce's cologne reached his side of the table whenever he moved. 

"Are you?" Bruce asked, meeting his eyes clearly. Damn, why did he have to look so hot when he was intense like this? 

Clark swallowed. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, all the important people already know. I guess if Perry fires me, I know it's not because of my writing being bad." 

Bruce hummed, but his eyebrows were furrowed in mild concern. Clark guessed he shouldn't exactly be surprised that Bruce bought the Daily Planet about a week later, but that didn't mean he wasn't a little exasperated about it. 

\---

Batman and Robin are good at what they do. Over the years, they develop a routine, and it's why, when they encounter another vigilante in Gotham, things are weird for a while. 

Batgirl is no-nonsense, not under Bruce's authority, and Dick has a crush on her the size of the Empire State Building. He is not subtle, much to both of his guardians' amusement, and Bruce is bugged on some deeper level by the fact that Batgirl has taken his name without his permission or his training. 

"What, you got copyright on the word 'bat' or something?" she grinned at them, about the third time around they've arrived at the same crime scene. 

"No," Bruce said, but his voice was threatening. Batgirl wasn't bothered, putting her hands on her hips challengingly. 

"Then what's your problem? If it's not the bat-part, could it be the girl-part?" she asked, glaring Bruce down. 

He pursed his lips. "No. You don't have any training, you're young and inexperienced, and you're out on your own."

"So? Do I need a degree to fight crime? What about good old altruistic purposes?" she asked. Dick, fourteen years old and wide-eyed at the blatant display of disrespect for Batman's authority, blushed when they met eyes, and took a step so that he was behind Batman's broad cape.

Bruce took a deep, steeling breath, recognizing that he was talking to a teenager and needed the patience. "Run a training course with Robin and if you beat his score, you can keep the name. Deal?"

She huffed, and behind Batman's broad back, Dick flailed in panic at the thought of having to run against _Batgirl_. "I don't need to prove anything to you."

"Wouldn't you like to prove me wrong?" Bruce asked, because for some reason, the kids who didn't respond to Batman's authoritative air, responded to childish challenges. 

Batgirl narrowed her eyes. "Okay. Fine. Where do you want me to run?"

He considered her, and pulled a piece of paper out of one of his many pouches on his belt. When he went to hand it over, he pulled his hand back at her yellow glove approaching his. "Guard this information carefully. Tomorrow, at midnight, this adress."

"Alright, jeeze," Batgirl snorted, but she tucked the piece of paper in her pocket and took off. 

Dick was practically vibrating with excitement the next day as the three of them waited in the cave. Clark was typing up a JL report, Bruce was doing his tai chi warm ups on the mats wearing only soft pants, and Dick was on the gymnastics bar, looping around to keep his range of motion and his strength up. 

The batcomputer beeped at the intruder alarm, and Clark shut it off, annoyed at the distraction as he was in a writing zone. It was because of this that nobody noticed Batgirl entering the cave, climbing the stairs to their platform. 

"Wow," she said, looking at their computer set up. At the sound, Bruce's eyes snapped open, Dick fell off his bar with a thud into the mats, and Clark jumped into the air, only to stay there. 

"Oh my gosh, you scared the crap out of me!" Clark exclaimed. She stared at him, then at the floor underneath him, and pressed her lips together at the distance there. Clark quickly sank back into his seat. 

"Huh," she said. "Sorry about that."

"Dick, go get ready," Bruce called, standing up and walking over. 

"You're Bruce Wayne," Batgirl said, pointing towards him. Her finger turned to Clark. "Making you Clark Kent. And that Dick Grayson. You're Batman? And your partner knows?"

"Yes," Bruce said, simply. "This information isn't free. Mask off."

"Demanding," Batgirl muttered, before pulling her cowl back, and shaking out her ginger tresses. Without the cowl, she was very clearly a teenage girl, with a heart-shaped face, green eyes and mascara smudged underneath her one eye. "My name is-"

"Barbara Gordon," Bruce interrupted, eyes intent. "I gathered. Suit back up and do warm ups. You have three minutes before you're running the course. 

"Is he always this rude?" she asked nobody in particular, tugging her cowl back into place.

"Pretty much," Dick said, popping out from the locker rooms wearing his Robin outfit. "Hi. I'm Dick."

"Hi. Barbara," she said, nodding at him. 

"Wow, that's a pretty name," Dick said, smiling at her. Barbara narrowed her eyes, but smiled back. "Lemme show you around."

The two went off around the cave, Dick showing with expansive gestures where they kept their gear, where they did their training, where their vehicles were. Bruce came over and leaned against the computer panel next to Clark. 

"Feels like you should be more paranoid about this," Clark remarked, turning to face his partner. 

Bruce hummed, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "I have a... Good feeling about this one, you could say."

Clark gaped. "A _good_ feeling? Stop the presses! Bruce Wayne isn't being pessimistic? It's a momentous day!" Bruce grumbled, standing up like he was going to walk away, when Clark grabbed him around the waist to stop him, laughing. "Wait, wait, I'm joking! I'm sorry, B, c'mon."

"You, Clark Kent, are a jerk," Bruce said, but let himself be pulled back, now to standing between Clark's spread legs. "This is why I don't have good feelings about things."

"I'm sorry, babe, I'm just joking. You know you're a suspicious sort." He slid one hand to the back of Bruce's thigh, just over where thigh turned into the back of the knee. "Gordon wouldn't happen to be, like... Gordon, Inspector Gordon of the GCPD?"

"The very same," Bruce said, glancing over at where Barbara and Dick were talking close to the giant penny.

"Oh," Clark said, pressing his lips together. "That's not good."

"We'll see how well she does on the run. Dick! Let's go." At that, he walked over to the wall, explained to Barbara quickly how it went, and then set the two of them off. 

She beats Dick by three miliseconds. Clark's pretty sure Dick's crush grows into first love on the spot.

\---

Batgirl and Robin run over the rooftops like it's a game and they're both winning. The Dynamic Duo occasionally gets a helping hand, and sometimes they help Batgirl too, but she's really too independent. Because of her competence, Bruce doesn't mind that she carries his symbol, and Clark doesn't think he could convince her to peel it off now that she has it.

Despite telling himself he's going to tell Jim Gordon, Clark sees how happy Barbara is, how bright she is, and they keep their mouths shut. Dick grows into a young man right before his eyes, and it seemed Bruce wasn't really ready to grow with him. 

They've had fights before, but this one is bad. He wasn't home, but got a message on his answering machine from Alfred about how he should consider not coming home today if he wanted to save his own skin. Not in those words, of course, because Alfred would never put it so indelicately, but he was undoubtedly right. When Clark came home, he was greeted by Bruce's growl of "talk to your son!" before he stomped out into the rose garden, and deadly silence throughout the rest of the house. 

"No 'hello honey, how was your day', no 'how'd that article go', no nothing huh?" Clark said to himself as he climbed the stairs to Dick's room.

When he knocked, he recieved a very pissy "No!" So it was going to be one of those days, huh?

"It's me," Clark said placatingly. "Can I come in for just a second to see you're okay?"

"You've got X-ray vision, use it!" Dick retorted sharply. 

"I meant see how you're doing and you know it," Clark said reprovingly, and waited, leaning against the door frame. 

After almost a minute of silence, the lock on the door turned, and Clark opened the door without stepping into the room. He watched in silence as Dick grabbed clothes and gear spread over the bed and shoved them into his duffle in a hurry, muttering unsavory things under his breath. 

"Bare-knuckled, no-holds barred today, huh?" he said, and saw Dick's shoulders tense. 

"Don't really want to talk about it, pop."

"That's fine. Just as long as you know he doesn't really mean it. He's just angry," Clark said, and Dick whipped around, baring his teeth. 

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm angry too!" he shouted. It struck him that the boy was eye-level with his shoulder now, that Dick didn't have to crane his neck to look him in the eye anymore. Time really flew by too fast. Clark sighed to himself, and instead of saying anything, just opened his arms wide. 

Dick stood there, shaking with anger for a moment, before he collapsed against Clark's solid chest. The rage didn't really drain from him like it usually did, but he did stop shaking like he was about to vibrate out of his own skin. 

Clark rested his cheek against Dick's hair, stroking a little circle on the young man's back. "I know you're angry. And that's okay, too. He's just worried, and that makes him do stupid things. I get that you want to take some time to cool off, but let me know where you are, okay? Just so I know you're safe." 

"I think I'm just... Gonna go to the Titans. Cool off. Dunno," Dick muttered, before he pushed away again, and grabbed the duffle. When he hopped into his shoes, he at least seemed to be rational and calmer. Still angry though. 

While Dick was generally the cheerful counterpoint to Bruce's darkness, the boy had a well-hidden temper. Once you riled him up enough, he exploded. He was competent enough in the field that despite the happy disposition, his team trusted him to lead, but he was still young, still passionate and angry. It was a time to tread lightly. 

\---

Dick dropping out of college starts the next row, with Clark trying to remain neutral and failing sort of spectacularly. At least he yells less than Bruce does, but only because he removes himself from the situation more often than not. Bruce is the one paying, the one who's most mad, and while Clark tries to appeal to their boy, Dick is steadfast, gets his own apartment, disappears to that when he's had enough of them. Clark can tell that it's getting to Bruce, that the disobedience only smarts half as much as the two of them fighting like feral cats. 

Before Dick becomes Nightwing, he talks to Clark. He told him that the legend of the Kryptonian Nightwing, the bedtime stories he'd heard as a child, had inspired him, that he wanted to haunt his own shadows and be out from under Bruce's. Clark knew instantly that the moment this reached Bruce, it would be recieved awfully, so he looked his kid in the eye and said, with no allowance for uncertainty:

"Do it."

Dick laughed a little awkwardly, spreading his hands in front of himself. "Okay, full disclosure, I thought you'd yell at me more."

Clark shook his head. "Never about this. Your dad put me in my place about that early on. Being Robin was about helping people to you, about doing something bigger and better than yourself. You're not that kid anymore. If you need to change suits, change your name, change hair, hell, change country to feel like you can step out there and help people again, do it. Do whatever you need to. We're here to support you the whole way, whatever your dad says. Okay?"

Dick nodded and swallowed hard, but there was an overbrimming greatfulness in his eyes. "Thanks, pop. I just- I can't be Robin anymore. I need to be my own person."

"I know," Clark said, wrapping his arms around Dick. "I'll smack some sense into your dad and we'll get this sorted out."

It isn't exactly as easy as he thought it would be, as both Dick and Bruce yell for quite some time before it's settled, but Dick leaves the manor that night with a new suit design in the works and a promise to come back at least once a week to eat dinner, no matter what happens. Bruce also cold-shoulders him for about a week but Clark knows he made the right decision, can feel it in his very bones that if he hadn't interfered, they would've lost their child to Bruce's hostile nature. 

"Why Nightwing?" Bruce asked at dinner when the ice broke. Clark looked up from where he was reading a book, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh, we're talking again, are we?" he asked, a little sharply.

Bruce huffed an impatient breath. "Yes. I'm... I apologize for my behavior. I needed time to think, and I'm... I'm sorry. I know about the Kryptonian legend, but why did he pick Nightwing?"

"He wanted to be out from under your shadow and be recognized as his own hero. You've raised him to be a great, strong young man, but it's time he got to be on his own a little. If you tried to tie him down to Robin I don't think he could've been contained that much longer," Clark said, an amused tilt to his voice. 

"We," Bruce corrected. 

"We, what?" 

"We raised him. Not just me. You deserve every bit of credit you're giving me for him being a wonderful young man." That worried wrinkle between his eyebrows appeared. "You're his pop. Of course he's not just mine. He's ours. You know this, right?"

Clark blinked, and felt his heart lurch a little at Bruce's steady declaration. One thing about their relationship that he would always treasure was Bruce's blunt nature, him being able to blurt out sincere romantic declarations whenever Clark didn't even know he most needed them. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Just like you knew he needed this when I didn't." 

Clark smiled a little ruefully. "Yeah. I know you love having Dick as a sidekick, but he's too old for that now. As Pa said when I went off to college, a young man needs to leave home sometime."

Bruce looked at him for a moment, just considering. "Maybe Pa is right," he mused. "He's not going further than Bludhaven, though."

"Oh, gosh no," Clark said, turning back to his book. "If he so much as glances at any city except Bludhaven or San Francisco with the Titans, I'm going to be very upset with him. Couldn't say that, though, or he'd immediately go hurtling towards Europe or something."

"He's more mature than doing the opposite of what we say," Bruce protested. 

"Is he, though?" 

Bruce laughed, startling Clark into looking up at his partner again, a half-smile already on his face. "You're right. I love you," he said, stretching a hand out towards Clark over the table.   
Clark intertwined their hands, and smiled. "I love you too."

\---

Bruce comes in to the cave after another patrol one night with a peculiar look on his face, and Clark can't pin down exactly what it is that makes it different than any other night. Since Dick left, and since the ice melted, Bruce has mostly been back to being himself, albeit alone on his patrols. When Dick comes over for dinner on Sundays, the two of them remain civil, but Clark's pretty convinced it's actually for his and Alfred's sake, rather than any real reconciliation yet. That's fine, as long as societal convention keeps them from snapping each other's heads off at the dinner table. 

It takes almost a week before Clark can set his work projects and take time off JL to do some lovin' rustling for information. When his partner came home from patrol, again with that strange look on his face, Clark swooped in.

"Hey, honey," he said when Bruce stepped out of the batmobile, stretching a hand out. "How was patrol?"

"Not too strenuous," Bruce murmured, twining their fingers together and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "How did the finale of your show go?"

"It was interesting. I would've wanted for you to see it with me, you know," Clark pointed out.

"Mm, yes, but then I wouldn't get to listen to you recount it to me, and that would be such a shame," Bruce said, tugging the cowl back to smile at him, though the earlier mentioned look was much more visible now.

"A shame," Clark agreed, rolling his eyes. "Anything of note happen out there this week?"

Bruce grabbed his shoulder under the cape, and massaged it a bit, rolling it as well. "No."

"Nothing?" he wheedled.

Bruce paused. "Well. The wheels of the batmobile were almost taken a few days ago."

Clark snorted. "Yeah, right."

"I was parked in Crime Alley and some punk tried to steal the hubcaps. I arrived before he could make off with his bounty." 

Clark burst out into incredulous laughter. "Wow. Trying to make off with the Batmobile's tires? That's quite a feat. Brave punk."

Another one of those unidentifiable looks flittered over Bruce's face. "Hm. Yes."

"Oh, so that's what you're thinking, huh?" Clark asked, enjoying the way his partner startled at his words.

"What?"

"You think I don't remember that tone? C'mon. What's this punk's name?" he asked, sliding closer to his partner and taking his wrist, deactivating the gauntlet's safety-measures with a practiced hand.

Bruce pursed his lips in displeasure. "You know that annoys me."

Pulling the gauntlet off easily, Clark pressed a kiss to his lover's rough palm. "What, when I prove that I know you?"

Bruce's I'm-about-to-pitch-a-fit face was coming out. " _Yes_." 

"Well, that's the sort of unpleasant business I think you're gonna have to get used to. We've sort of been raising a kid together. That's a surefire way to get to know someone," Clark smirked. "Now, what's the punk's name?"

His snit-face turned into a reluctant frown. "Jason Todd."

"Ah-ha!"

"What do you mean, _ah-ha_ ," Bruce said, but threateningly enough that Clark assumed he wanted an answer.

"Oh nothing, Bruce. You generally just don't stop to take names of street rats trying to steal things. How old?"

"...He's eleven."

"Oh! Very interesting," Clark said, in a pointedly annoying tone. Bruce snatched his hand back to disengage the other gauntlet as well. "And you've come by this information through police records or something of the like, I'm sure. Batman wouldn't interact with this street punk, would he?"

"He would," Bruce snapped, but there was an open, vulnerable glint in his eyes as he tossed his other gauntlet at Clark, who caught it with a grin. 

"You know why you're doing this, don't you?" 

"Doing _what_."

"Finding a new kid to take in under your bat-wing."

Bruce paused, meeting his eyes for a moment, like he hadn't been prepared for Clark to see right through him like a greenhouse and hadn't decided if he was going to cave in yet. He finally found something very interesting to look at on the cave floor. "Gotham's hard to serve justice in all on your own," Bruce said, turning away from him.

"No, you miss Dick. Don't think I don't see right through you, B. We've been at this long enough that it annoys _me_ when you forget that."

Bruce's jaw worked, like he was chewing up the words Clark had said, evaluating them. "It's... It's not like that. It's that look in his eyes. Like he's gonna fight the whole world with just his fists, if that's what it takes." He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and finally cracked a grim smile, the beauty of it startling Clark. "He's a little punk."

His lover's smile made Clark's lips twitch a little too. "Remind you of someone?"

"Oh, don't. Alfred's already pulled that one." Bruce grimaced as he sat down in the computer chair, and Clark hurried over to help him down. He'd strained some muscle surrounding his knee recently, and it flared up when it got cold outside, since Bruce hadn't rested it enough. 

"Yeah well, he doesn't have to remind you of anyone to be cute. What's high society going to think?"

"Oh, Gotham's golden boy is taking in another orphan, this one from the slums, there'll be no protests, only cooing," Bruce muttered. When Clark moved away, Bruce's hand reached out and caught his. The sensation of his lover's calloused hand curling around his own made his chest feel suddenly warmer than before. "Of course, the regular society harpies will flock to him, ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks. Think he might punch them in the face for that."

"Oh no," Clark said in a dead-pan, making Bruce's smile widen, "whatever shall we do?"

"I think you're going to like him," Bruce admitted, a hushed sort of quality to his voice. "He's... something else."

Clark smiled, running a thumb across Bruce's sharp cheekbone lovingly. "If he's caught your eye, I'm sure he is, honey. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," Bruce admitted. "I've been talking to him, feeding him a bit. Trying to gauge his interest in being taken in."

Clark grinned. "You're treating him like a street cat, babe."

"All that's left is putting some fish in a crate and waiting until he wanders in," Bruce mused, and Clark laughed, pressing a kiss to Bruce's soft lips. 

"Yeah. Maybe invite him home first? I have a feeling we don't own a crate big enough for him."

"Hmm. Maybe not," he agreed.

\---


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your sweet comments!   
> Hope you enjoy! <3

When Clark comes home from work the following Wednesday, he spots someone small standing outside their door, kicking at the gravel lining their driveway. He hurries to drop down in the archway of bushes leading to the garden behind the house, trying to be sneaky. In an attempt not to startle the boy, he made some noise before emerging, smiling at him. 

"Hi there," he said, remaining a little hunched and with a bashful, Clark Kent the reporter smile. "Jason, I'm guessing?"

The boy was surprisingly short for his age, but stocky, and his hair was black and greasy. There were little curls at the nape of his neck, and he was wearing a jean jacket that looked a little short in the sleeves over a red t-shirt, and his jeans had a rip on one knee. There was a smudge of something on his jaw, and freckles covering the bridge of his nose and smattering over his cheeks. His whole face radiated suspicion and cautiousness, but in an angry puppy way. 

"What's it to you?" he asked, his voice high pitched like Dick's had been, right at the cusp of puberty. It made Clark's smile wider. 

"I'm Clark, Bruce's partner. C'mon in," he said, hopping up the steps and opening the door. Jason seemed to take a deep, bracing breath.

"Guess I'm in the right place," he muttered to himself, stepping into the entrance hall. Clark tugged his jacket off and hung up his messenger bag, stopping himself from calling out to Alfred only not to startle the boy. Jason's eyes were wide as he looked around them, peeking into the sitting room to the left, and tilting his head up a little at something glinting up there.

"Wow. Is that real gold?" he asked as he balked at the trim on the walls. 

"I think so," Clark said, shaking his head. "Though if that's the truth, I think it's ostentatious as heck."

Jason snorted. "'Heck'? What, you can't say hell here?"

Clark winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "My ma would whoop my butt if she ever heard it come out of my mouth. It's habit, I guess."

Jason gave him a funny look. "Gonna happen to me too?"

"No," Bruce said from the top of the stairs. Jason startled like a spooked cat, snapping towards the sound of his voice. "Not in this house, it won't. Doesn't mean I don't think it's rough language."

While Jason looked like he was internally berating himself for jumping at all, Clark smirked at his lover's dramatic entrance. "Oh, I'm sure Alfred's heard you say much worse."

"Hm," Bruce said, the furrow of his lips saying that he wasn't mad, just a little miffed that he'd mention that Bruce has, in a drugged-up stupor, sworn like a sailor while Alfred sewed up a giant gash over his stomach. The stoical Batman does not curse, but on occasion, Bruce was reminded that he is, indeed, human. 

"Guess Batman'd have to be rich to have all that shit you carry around," Jason agreed, his shoulders hunching and his eyes narrowing.

"And have that shiny car," Clark added. Jason tilted his head consideringly, sizing Clark up. His lips twisted into a charming little grin, but his eyes were calculating. Oh, Clark saw exactly what Bruce liked in this boy. Despite how everyone thought he was a little too good-hearted and sweet to be a superhero, Clark knows swindlers when he sees them. Being with Bruce for so long has certainly helped, but he also knows that for Bruce to bring him home, he couldn't be too much of a burgeoning criminal.

"Do you have a car, Mister Clark?" Jason asked innocently. Clack chuckled, walking towards the staircase as Bruce ascended, the two of them like magnets. 

"I don't, no. Nice try though," he said, pressing a quick kiss to Bruce's calloused fingertips. "Aren't you going to invite Jason in?"

"...Yes. Follow me," Bruce said, and turned, walking back up the stairs. Jason muttered some choice words under his breath, and hurried after him, casting suspicious glances everywhere he looked, like he thought he was going to get jumped.

Clark followed too, and when he saw that Bruce was leading the way towards the study, he side-tracked them. "Is Alfred coming with tea?"

Bruce stopped, turning to look at him. "No."

"No? Bruce," Clark said, scandalized. "It's tea time. I'll give him a holler. Here, let's take this sitting room."

He opened the door, leading into the blue sitting room. The couches were a little older, with velvet embroidery on them, but perfectly sittable. Jason studied the paintings in the room closely, as Clark dragged a reluctant Bruce into the room. 

"This is not a business deal, honey. Don't act like it is," he whispered, giving his emotionally stunted partner a kiss on the cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jason's eyebrows shoot up, but the boy remained silent. "Take a seat, Jason. I'll be right back."

He zoomed down to the kitchen, where Alfred was sitting reading a newspaper, sipping his tea. Clark burst into the room, making the butler raise an unimpressed eyebrow. "Jason is here and Bruce was going to take him into the study! Like this is a business transaction, not us asking if he'd like being adopted by us!" 

Alfred stood up, bustling over to the pantry and pulling out cookies to place on a plate. "I'll put on the kettle. Here, Master Clark, take these and I'll bring the tea up in a moment. Which room did you steer them into?"

"Blue sitting room upstairs," Clark said, beaming at the butler. "Alfred, I honestly don't know what we'd do without you."

Alfred gave him a private little smile. "Yes, yes. Now hurry on up, sir."

Clark chuckled, and with plate in hand, dashed up again. Bruce and Jason had settled into the couches, sitting a little awkwardly across from each other. 

"Where do you live, Jason?" Bruce asked just as Clark slid into a seat next to him on the couch. 

Jason shrugged, clasping his hands in between his legs, but not for a need of looking proper. Rather, it looked like he didn't want to touch any of the stuff in the room, eyeing it suspicously. "Home." Jason's eyes glinted dangerously. "Not that you'd know my home from horseshit on your shoe."

Bruce's usual frown morphed into a smile, but the scary smile that Clark wasn't entirely comfortable with, even after all this time. "I may have a mansion, but I traveled the world for about five years, learning martial arts from as many masters who would take me. I've slept on concrete my fair share of times, and in snow storms, and several places that would make even your experienced nose wrinkle."

"Oh yeah?" Jason said, but the dangerous glint was gone. "So what's this about, then?" He waved his hands around to encompass the whole mansion.

"I have a certain image to uphold. And it is, after all, my ancestral home. And I've got, as Dick would say, 'a pretty sweet basement.'" 

Jason snorted. "Oh so it's okay to say dick but not hell, huh?"

Clark smiled, shaking his head. "It's our son's name. Well, it's really Richard, but his mom used to call him her Dickiebird. And before his biological parents died, they called him Dick. So when he came to us, that was what he liked to be called."

"Huh," Jason said, but he seemed unconvinced. "Your son, huh? How's that work?"

Bruce reclined on the couch, in the same movement placing a hand on Clark's knee. "He's my legal ward and has been since he was nine years old. Clark has always been here, though, we'd just been dating for a few months when he came into our lives. However, if we were to adopt you, it'd be the both of us who did it."

"Bruce!" Clark admonished, smacking his partner's thigh. "You don't have to be so brusque! This is why Babs doesn't like you."

"You mean it's what Barbara appreciates most about me," Bruce smirked. "So do you, usually."

"It's cool. It's what this was about, telling me to come here," Jason said, like he was only just realizing it. "Right?"

"Yes," Bruce agreed, meeting Jason's eyes. "I want you to come live with us. If it's something you want, I believe adoption is the best option."

"Right... Is this a sex thing? 'Cause I ain't no rent boy," Jason asked suspiciously. 

"Absolutely not," Clark said sharply, as Bruce's eyes narrowed. 

"Has anyone asked you to do anything you don't want to do, Jason?" Bruce asked, his voice hard. 

"No. Gotta ask though. Sometimes kids off the street vanish. Don't wanna be one of them," he said, avoiding their eyes now. 

"Has this been happening a lot, recently?" Bruce asked, and Clark could hear from his tone that his brain had slipped into Batman mode.

Jason shrugged. "It's Crime Alley. We're streetrats. The cops don't really care if we go missing."

Bruce frowned. "Batman does."

The door opened, and Alfred strode in with a tray. Jason stood up, looking ready to bolt for a second. 

"Alfred, there you are! Jason, this is Alfred," Clark said cheerily, maybe a tad too cheerily. Jason gave him a weird look, but sank back down. Alfred set down a cup of hot coca in front of the boy, who picked it up warily, and also a cookie.

"You've got a butler? Talk about richie-rich," Jason muttered. 

"Alfred's more than a butler. Thank you," Bruce said, taking the cup from Alfred's hand. "He's also our technical support, keeps track of my schedule, takes care of the household... Tell me, what do you do that I don't pay for?"

"Emotional support for superheroes," Alfred quipped back, handing Clark his mug as well. "As well as being your answering machine, Master Bruce."

"Thanks. Alfred also raised Bruce after his parents passed," Clark smiled at Jason, who narrowed his eyes. 

"Huh. So you're _old_."

Clark snorted into his tea, amused at the reminder that Jason, for all his posturing, was only eleven years old. Alfred's usual stoic face twisted into a surprised little smile. "Why, yes, Mr. Todd, I believe I would classify as old."

Jason nodded, taking a big sip of the cocoa. His eyes lit up. "This is really good. Thanks."

"The trick is to heat the milk until it produces a skin, and stirring slowly. It was a favorite of Master Bruce's as well, when he was a boy."

"Hmm. Yes," Bruce agreed, though he didn't look very pleased with having to admit it. "Thank you for your input, Alfred."

"Of course. If there wasn't anything else, sirs?" They both shook their heads, and Alfred bowed his head, exiting the room. 

"I know that this is sort of sudden, and that you don't really know us. We totally understand if you want to take some time to think about it, or maybe just meet up more often before you decide, but our doors are open to you, Jason," Clark said, wanting there to be no misunderstandings. Bruce nodded.

"How do you know you want _me_ , anyway?" Jason asked, his voice a little softer than before maybe. "Or that I'm up for grabs?"

Bruce smiled, the non-scary one this time. Instead, it was the warm, wonderful smile Clark wanted to kiss all the goddamn time when it appeared. It showed no teeth, but set off the crinkles around Bruce's eyes. "I'm Batman, Jason. I know things."

"Guess that's as good of a reason to know shit as any other. And you swear it's not a sex thing?"

"We swear," Clark said firmly, feeling sort of pissed that Jason even feels the need to ask. Who would ask an eleven-year-old boy to move in with them for sex reasons? "Who's been making you feel unsafe, Jason?"

Jason shrugged, sinking back a little on the couch. "There's a car that prowls around a lot. Expensive-looking one. Picks kids up and doesn't drop them off. You'd think smart kids wouldn't get snatched up like that."

"It isn't always about being smart," Bruce said, shaking his head. "Sometimes people are scared, or they're worn down by someone asking them. They say no, but the person doesn't care. It's wrong of the perpetrator, never the victim."

"True, I guess," Jason said, looking like he was genuinely thinking it over. "Even you?"

"Nobody's managed to wear me down yet."

"Though Dick's given his best shot," Clark joked. Bruce rolled his eyes, but with a little smirk. 

"Yes, very funny Clark. Do you know what model of car, Jason?"

"Not the name, but I'd probably recognize it if I saw it. It's a black car, pretty low but not a sports car. Four doors. I don't remember the license plate, but I can ask around, I guess," he shrugged. 

Bruce swigged his cup of tea, which Clark was glad Alfred wasn't here to see, then took a cookie in hand. "Alright. It's time to move this to the cave."

Jason hurried to also sip his cocoa. "The cave?"

"Does it look like I have my suit anywhere up here?"

"You've got a lot of rooms around, I dunno where you keep your shit," Jason complained, but stood up when Bruce did. Clark followed them into the study, where Bruce turned the hands on the clock to 10:47 to open it. 

"Cool. Why that time?" Jason asked as Bruce lead the way into the clock. 

"It's the time my parents were murdered," Bruce said, as Clark closed the door behind himself. 

"Damn, alright," Jason muttered under his breath. "Can't ask anything around here."

"You'll come to find Batman is a surprisingly sensitive subject," Clark whispered, smiling at Jason's startled look. 

They exited to the main floor of the cave, where you could see bits of the other sub-levels, where the batmobile and Dick and Barbara's new Batgirl and Nightwing bikes were standing, his brilliant blue and hers purple with yellow detailing. On another sub-level, rested their training areas, and on yet another platform stood the dinosaur and the giant penny, as well as other trinkets Dick had brought back on occasion. The most recent addition was a flower from Tamaran, suspended in a glass case. 

"Pretty sweet digs," Jason said, his voice the very essence of nonchalance, but his eyes were practically glowing at the shiny metal of the computer, of the gear lined up against the wall.

"Yes, the aesthetics are quite interesting," Clark agreed, smiling widely at Bruce's frown. "Also very intentional."  
Bruce huffed, and turned towards the computer. "Do you know the names of the kids who have disappeared?"

"A few. Don't mean they were snatched by the car though," Jason pointed out. 

"True. Come look at these cars, Jason. See if you recognize any of them."

As he walked past the higher platform to their left, Jason glanced at Dick's old Robin-uniform, and for a moment his whole face turned into that of one awe-struck little boy. Clark watched as he shook it off, sauntering over to Bruce, and smiled to himself. For some reason, he thought this could work out. 

\---

 _Two weeks trial period is not going to be the end of this_ , Clark thinks a week in. Jason is bright, sweet, and sharply funny, and he makes Bruce _laugh_. There's no way they can let this brilliant little boy go back to the streets. Bruce gives him tests to do, to see which grade they'd be able to put him in, because he reveals he stopped going to school two years ago when his mother overdosed and he was left alone. Jason does remarkably well for someone who's been living on the streets for so long, and Bruce thinks that with some tutors, he could be up to speed with others his age by the fall. 

When the two weeks are up, and Jason stays by his own will, Clark wakes up day fifteen and brushes Jason's hair out of his face at the breakfast table, beaming like the sun. 

The longevity of his stay is why Jason starts training with Bruce. If it's something Bruce believes, it's that his body is his weapon, and he keeps his rigorous training up pretty much whenever he has the chance. When Bruce goes on a run, he brings Jason with him, when Bruce goes down to the cave for his tai chi or boxing, he brings Jason, and the list goes on. He still doesn't bring him on patrols though, just teaches him how to fight when it's not for his life. 

Jason's a little more shy around Clark, but when Clark tells him about his parents' farm, Jason seems delighted, and listens raptly. Apparently, it's mostly because of his life-long dream to tip over a cow, because he read somewhere that it's nigh impossible. When Clark said that he had, accidentally, it's like Jason's respect for him doubles in a second. 

"Damn," Jason said, nodding his head with wide eyes. "That's pretty cool. Did you use the superstrength for that, or no?"

"I'm not entirely sure. It was before I really knew how my powers worked. I was a child," Clark grinned, shaking his head.

"Cows are pretty big though, so you better eat your greens so you'll grow big and strong enough to tip one over."

"Huh. I like broccoli," he shared, and Clark grinned, nodding. 

"Me too. Bruce likes brusselsprouts." Jason wrinkled his cute nose, and Clark shrugged. "I know. What can you do, though, you know?"

An interest that they share, which Bruce doesn't share, is pro-wrestling, mostly WWE. Bruce complains that it's rigged and doesn't watch on principle, but Jason and Clark take the time to enjoy it and laugh. They go to some matches, and Bruce's money buys them nosebleed seats, right by the ring. Jason becomes as animated as Clark has ever seen him, shouting along with the other fans and waving his arms expansively. It's also the most his Gotham accent comes out, making Clark grin just at that.

"Did you have fun?" Bruce asks when they come home, making a face at the smell of sweat on Clark but kissing him in greeting anyway, and getting tackled around the waist by Jason. 

"Yeah! Didya know Clark's tall as fucking hell?! He hoisted me right up there so I could see!" Jason said, a little louder than needed. 

"Yes, I'm aware. I'm happy you enjoyed yourself," Bruce said, ruffling Jason's fluffy waves with the little crinkles at his eyes that mean he's smiling.

They've learned that while Jason will eat breakfast and dinner at the table in the dining room, he isn't used to making lunch a big deal, so they're skipping that a lot recently, much to Alfred's displeasure. Instead, they're eating snacks like apples, and grilled cheeses, spread over the day. 

Bruce is mostly home with Jason, skipping board meetings without remorse, and it's sort of funny to Clark how well Jason's habits fit with Bruce's. He comes home from work later than usual one day to find them hanging in the library, as Bruce goes over files and Jason screws around on his recently recieved Game Boy Pocket, both of them eating apple and mango slices from a bowl on the desk and the coffee table respectively.

"Where are my favorite boys?" Clark asked, knocking on the door frame. Bruce raised his head, giving Clark a nod over his shoulder. Jason gave a little wave from the couch. "There they are!"

Jason snorted. "What is this, peekaboo?" 

Clark chuckled, brushing a hand over Jason's hair as he walked past to get a kiss from his busy partner. "If you want that.

I'm always happy to play."

"Weirdo," Jason said, but nowadays Clark never heard a bite behind it, just Jason expressing affection the only way he knew how, when he was being cared for. 

"Yes. He's very weird. Anomalous, even. Alien, one might say," Bruce said, rubbing his eyes to hide his face so they wouldn't see his smirk.

Clark laughed for real that time. "Stop it. Haven't you come up with every alien joke in existence at this point?"

Bruce turned his face upwards, without looking away from his papers. "Hmm. No. I have some more, I'm sure."

Answering the unspoken request, Clark kissed his partner's cheek, and grabbed a mango slice, despite Bruce's growl when his hand approached the bowl. "Well, save 'em. I don't wanna hear them."

"I'll save them for special occasions only," Bruce promised as Clark dropped into the couch next to Jason. 

"So what did you guys do today?" he asked. 

"Worked out. Had tea. Had soup for dinner. And B's been doing whatever that is for like, a billion hours," Jason said, still blipping away at his game. 

"Whatcha playing? Is it that game Dick sent you?"

"Yeah. The dweeb thinks I'm gonna let him play if I finish it. Fat chance." 

Clark grinned. "Glad we're all getting along. He used to play- what was the name of that game, Bruce? The one with the guy with the hat."

"Super Mario Land. He also played a lot of Tetris," Bruce tossed in. "He's probably just excited to have someone who's as excited as he is about the games. As you can tell, me and Clark have... trouble remembering."

Jason huffed. "'Cause you're old."

"Ouch!" Clark laughed. "I'll have you know I'm not even forty! Don't I get some slack until I'm forty?" 

Jason pouted, considering it. He shrugged, finally. "Alright. You're old when you're forty."

Clark shook his head with a little smile. "Bruce, hon. Do you know if you have any books about Metropolis history in the library? I was going to check the library in Metropolis, but I thought I should check here first so I don't go borrowing things unecessarily."

Bruce tilted his head in thought. "Maybe. You could check the world history section down there, if you'd like. I know my father collected a lot of local history too, but I think it's a stretch to consider Metropolis local."

"I'll check it out anyway. If I don't find anything, I'll just dash in on my lunch break tomorrow," Clark said, strolling down the aisle Bruce had indicated. He searched the tomes lined up by a window with heavy drapes, and found nothing of interest, sadly. 

He walked out into the main grouping of couches in the library again, only to find Bruce having turned around in his seat, a considering look on his face. 

"Do you like to read, Jason?" Bruce asked. Jason shrugged, pulling his legs up when Clark sat down next to him again. 

"Dunno. Not a lot of that around," he said, and Bruce pursed his lips. 

"Perhaps I might read to you, then?" He glanced up at Clark, raising an eyebrow. 

"Oh, please do," Clark said, taking the hint. Honestly, he loved listening to Bruce's tender, baritone voice echo around the large library. When Dick had gone to bed early as a child, it wasn't unusual to find the two of them curled up on a couch, Bruce massaging Clark's scalp and reading a book to him. 

"What book, then? Some Jane Austen?" Bruce suggested.

Clark beamed at him. "You read my mind, honey."

"Who's Jane Austen?" Jason asked suspiciously, like he wasn't sure they weren't mocking him right now. He'd tucked his Game Boy away though.

"She's an early nineteenth-century writer who wrote a lot of love stories. Her most famous book is probably _Pride and Prejudice_ , though I believe we have all of her books in the library. My mother was a fan," Bruce said, rising to look over at the series of bookshelves, probably trying to recall where they were.

"I don't wanna listen to some prissy love stories," Jason said, in a very eleven-year-old-boy way. "It's boring."

"I don't know if I agree with that," Bruce mused, meeting Clark's eyes. Despite himself, Clark felt his face heat up. God, what was he, a teenager? He was worse than Dick with his first crush. "I think that with all the violence we witness in this world as it is, that reading about sisters who overcome adversity to become happy in a time where love was always second to status is actually quite soothing."

"Soothing?" Clark asked, grinning as Bruce pulled _Pride and Prejudice_ from the shelf and sat down next to them on the couch. Jason ended up between his two guardians, and where he once would've been pretty up-tight, when his body dipped dangerously close to Bruce's black turtleneck, he caught himself and sat up. Despite that, though, his stance was still pretty relaxed, with his arms crossed loosely over his chest and his legs spread. "That's an interesting use of the word. I think you mean mindlessly absorbing."

"You like that stuff?" Jason questioned, a mocking look on his face, but there was a vulnerable glint is his eyes, like he couldn't believe a big, scary guy like the Batman could like romance novels, like he hadn't even considered that that was alright. 

Bruce paused, and sighed, reaching over Jason to pinch Clark's side to make him squirm away. "Yes. I find the main character compelling and relatable, in that she's surrounded by idiots."

"I think you're more of a Mr. Darcy than Lizzie, honestly. Tall, proud, brusque," Clark chuckled, and Bruce huffed, that look in his eyes like he was considering kissing him right then and there. 

"One word from me better silence _you_ on the subject forever, Mr. Kent," he sniffed, and opened the book to the first page while Clark tried to contain his giggles. Jason looked between the two of them like they were acting a little kooky, but he settled in and soon became enraptured when Bruce began reading the story. Clark relaxed back on the couch, closed his eyes, and and enjoyed the soft sound of his lover's voice next to Jason's slow, calm breaths. 

It was maybe an hour and a half later when Bruce cleared his throat softly, making Clark open his eyes and gaze down at Jason, who was almost asleep as well. "Maybe we should continue their adventures at another time."

Jason yawned. "No, I wanna hear more. Why's Mr. Darcy being such an ass, anyway?"

Bruce smiled at the boy, who cracked an eye open to glare at him sleepily. "You're tired, Jase. It's alright. We can continue tomorrow, maybe?"

"Fifteen more minutes," Jason bargained. Bruce pursed his lips, but ultimately nodded, and went back to his reading. 

This time, Clark was paying a little more attention, his eyes following the trail of Bruce's strong hands gripping the book and flipping pages, the concentrated look on his face. He also noticed Jason's body relaxing even further, slowly sinking back into the couch. When his head fell against Clark's shoulder, Clark smiled to himself, wondering if he could get away with twirling a hand through Jason's tousled waves without waking him up. 

When Bruce's voice faltered, Clark looked up to meet his eyes, and saw the same punch-drunk, loving feeling in Bruce's eyes as was definitely shining out of his own. Their little rascal, curled up between them. He took a risk, and brushed a curl back behind Jason's ear. The boy snuffled a little in his sleep, but other than that didn't react. 

"Think he's asleep?" Bruce asked, his voice low. 

Clark listened to Jason's deep breathing, his slow heartbeat. "Yeah. Our little Jaybird is all tuckered out."

Bruce hummed, and reached out to stroke a gentle, quick finger over Jason's left eyebrow, where there was a little notch of missing hair, from what Jason's described as a fight with a glass bottle. 

"We should probably tuck him in, then," Bruce murmured. He shoved the book underneath his arm and stood up, carefully scooping Jason up without startling him too much. Clark stood up too, and slipped the book out from under his arm, moving to put it back in the shelf when Bruce stopped him. "I think he enjoyed himself. Let's bring it."

"Alright," Clark agreed, dropping a kiss on Bruce's temple and following the two of them back to Jason's bedroom.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clark: I want to see my little boy!!  
> bruce: *hoisting Jason in the air by the armpits* here he comes  
> clark: I want to see my little boy!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Jason Todd!!  
> Some trigger warnings in the bottom notes, things that I've warned about in the tags tho!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Despite the epic hissy-fit Dick pitches when Jason emerges as Robin, after Clark forces him to follow them on patrol, look at what he's doing to Bruce, how much he takes pride in the colors, Dick mellows out a bit. Nightwing even joins Robin and Batman on some runs, where he shows Jason the ropes of being Robin, and it's nice. Having two kids isn't all that different to having one, except of course Dick isn't home more than once a week. 

He calls Clark at least once a week as well, no matter what mission he's on, and calls Bruce only to report on the Titans' missions, prior to Clark kicking at his partner until Bruce asks how Dick's doing. It's their little routine, and Jason looks at them like they're a little kooky every time it happens, but he's been assimiliating with surprising speed, both to the crime-fighting and to Gotham's elite. 

Even with all his bravery and bravado, Jason still spends a lot of the time at the galas and charities they have to arrange to keep Bruce's persona intact, at either Clark's side, or in Alfred's kitchen. They've asked him politely to not punch people, and to instead say that he has to ask one of them a question to get out of the situation, but Clark can tell Bruce is waiting for Jason to start wailing on one of the elite kids. 

Clark hopes it's the snotty kid who always brags about his new, ridiculously expensive cars that gets socked in the jaw first. He reminds Clark of Lex Luthor, and it bugs him. 

While Bruce has faith in Jason's slightly feral tendencies, Clark can see his lack of self-confidence, knows that Jason wants more than anything to be able to blend into a wall during these events, that he doesn't really _want_ to start a fight with his peers if only because of the embarrassment. He and Alfred have a deal that if he can stand to be on the floor for three and a half hours, he gets to spend the rest of the evening until his bedtime in the kitchen, where he's more comfortable and under Alfred's watchful eye. 

They're about half way into that time when Clark spots Jason across the room, huddled in a little alcove away from all the talking masses of people. He approached, smiling and getting a pursed lip smile back.

"Doing okay, Jaybird?" Clark asked, one hand coming down to gently grasp Jason's shoulder.

He shrugged the shoulder not in Clark's grasp. "'M fine." His teal eyes tracked the ball room, likely searching for Bruce. For all his posturing, Jason turned to Bruce like a sunflower in a field, unerringly seeking light and warmth from him. Bruce's rough edges seemed to fit very well with Jason's, which amused Clark to no end. They argued politics and philosophy, and while Clark always tried to pitch in, the main battle was always between the two of them.

"Want to find Dick for me? I haven't seen him for a while," Clark said. 

Jason wrinkled his cute little nose. "Him and Barbie disappeared like ten minutes ago. You couldn't pay me to go lookin' for him." 

Clark chuckled, and cast his hearing out to the rest of the manor, hearing Dick's giggle and Barbara telling him to stop being ridiculous, she could totally beat his ass at Mario Kart. Ah. Nothing so wild as what Jason was expecting, then, but a fair assumption on his part. They keep circling each other, but Clark knows they're getting closer every time. "Alright then. Did you finish your assignment?"

Jason nodded, tucking his hands into his slack-pockets, and making a face at how stiff the fabric was. "Ms. Goldman has six cats, one siberian, two Norwegian forest cats, and three tabbys. How's B gonna check this, anyway?"

Clark shook his head with a smile, glancing over to where his partner was surrounded by Gotham high society, the shining center of a group of people. "Oh, he knows a lot of stuff. And what isn't in his head, he's got in that computer of his."

"'S weird," Jason declared.   
Clark hummed. "Knowledge is power, y'know. It's why he's making you do these things. And to make you more observant. You need to pay attention to your surroundings, and who you surround yourself with. You want it to be good people."

"Then what are we doing here?" Jason asks, waving sweeping a hand to indicate the large hall filled with people. "They're all here being rich as fuck, while kids are starving in the streets. They've got money enough to fix shit, but they don't. How's that being good people?"

Clark considered that. "You're right. They're not good people. They're here to flaunt their money and have a good time. This isn't the sort of people we enjoy surrounding ourselves with, but see as a necessary evil. Every time people come to these events, they have to pay to come, and what doesn't go to the caterers, goes to a charity that the event is about gathering money for. Whenever Bruce shows up, more people donate, for some reason. He did the math, so now we have four charity events a year, and he shows up to some others, so he can get people to contribute. The truth is, a lot of the time, they don't care. They're so far removed from the streets, they don't care."

Jason's eyebrows had furrowed in anger, with a firey spark in his eyes that wasn't there before. "I could've told you that. Rat fucking bastards."

"Yeah," Clark sighed. "Yeah, that's about right." Looking over at Jason's murderous eyes, Clark shook his head at himself. "Y'know what, Jase? You've done your duty for the night. You did your assignment, and I'm as sick as you are of hanging out here. Want to see if Alfred will let us have any ice cream?"

Jason turned wide, momentarily distracted eyes on him. "Seriously?"

Clark ruffled Jason's hair, leading him off towards the kitchen. "Yeah. I think I saw some neopolitan in the freezer. Let me just let Bruce know."

"You mean he won't just _know_?" Jason snarked. 

Clark laughed, shaking his head. "Off you go. If Alfred complains, say I said it was alright. I'll be with you in a second."

Jason shrugged, and hurried away to the kitchen. Clark slid up behind his partner, placing a hand on his lower back.

"Hands off the goods, mister," came Brucie's teasing voice as he turned his head. He smirked at Clark for a second as their guests chuckled. "Oh. Actually, sweetheart, you can handle my goods anytime you want."

"Happy to hear it," Clark said, blushing despite himself. Bruce found it extra funny when his innuendos got under his skin, and Clark could never quite control his blush when Brucie was like this. "Jason's not feeling well, so I sent him off to bed early. I'm just going with him to make sure he doesn't need anything else."

Bruce nodded, and one of the older ladies in the circle of people clucked. "Such a shame. What a pretty little boy you have!"

"He's very sweet, yes, thank you," Clark agreed. 

"No one has to wonder why you took him in or what you have him for," she chuckled. Clark felt his polite smile freeze on his face, and felt Bruce's back muscles tense under his hand. It wasn't like the pedophilia jokes were unusual, sadly. Just because they were a gay couple, who have taken in two young boys, people implied, or outright asked. Dick had shut it down quick whenever he heard it as a young boy, but Jason just looked mad. Despite how often it happened, it didn't mean any of them were braced for it, though. 

Bruce recovered first. "Yes. No one has to wonder, because it was done out of love, and wanting him to have a better life. He's sweet, and takes no one's shit, if you'll pardon my French," he smiled, serene, but his eyes were steel as he looked at the surrounding guests. "Clark, dear, please see that Jason has everything he needs for bedtime?"

"Yeah," Clark muttered, shaking his head and turning away. He quickly moved to the kitchen, where he found Babs in a sparkling green dress sitting on the kitchen table, with Dick and Jason eating ice cream straight out of the tub in their suits leaning up against the kitchen island. 

"Wa's wrong?" Dick asked the moment Clark stepped into the room, with a mouthful of ice cream. 

"Nothing," Clark promised, and saw Babs' shoulders sag in relief. "Just got out of a tough conversation. What are you two doing hiding around here?"

Barbara shrugged, swinging her legs. Dick's eyes followed the motion of her heels swinging through the air, and Clark internally rolled his eyes at his oldest. "We got bored. Not a lot of stimulating conversation to be had around here."

"Hey! I'm stimulating!" Dick said. Jason face-palmed in pure twelve-year-old exasperation, and Clark bit back a groan. 

"Oh yeah?" Babs said, raising her eyebrows. 

"Yeah!" 

"Alright lovebirds, I'm gonna need you to hop back into the fray. Bruce is all alone with no back up, all alone with the vultures out there!" Clark complained, patting Dick's hand for him to drop the spoon and holding a hand out so Barbara could hop back onto the floor on her stilettos without issue. He shooed them out of the room. "Thank you, you're the best!"

"Don't step on your dress," Dick said helpfully as he opened the door, and Babs scoffed. 

"I see where my dress is, Dick. Do you?" 

The door closed behind them, and Jason groaned. "Didn't they go to prom together? And like, spent all their time together?"

Clark sighed. "Oh young love. Did he steal all the good ice cream?"

Jason smiled a sneaky little smirk. "Actually... I hid the mint chocolate chip from him, 'cause I know you like it."

Clark beamed, pressing a quick smooch to the top of Jason's head. "Genius boy. You make your pop so happy."

He was being a little overdramatic, but it made the sneaky smirk turn into a genuine smile that showed Jason's cute front teeth and made his teal eyes glow. The two of them sat eating ice cream in their suits until Alfred showed up to tut about eating ice cream so close to bedtime. 

\---

The day they officially adopt Jason, both of them together (because Bruce's money talks, pretty much. It's upsetting how easy it is to bribe judges to allow both of them to be on the papers, but it's also a source of joy. Clark's very conflicted about Gotham's morality), Alfred bakes a cake. Dick adds way more green frosting than it really needs, and even Bruce contributes to a very precise candle placement. Despite how he's thought the whole day at work that he's not going to cry, Clark is as teary-eyed as Jason is when he sees the cake. When Bruce and Jason embrace, Bruce cradles Jason's head with his huge hand as Jay clutches Bruce's sweater, and Clark can only sniffle quietly and squish Dick to his side, pressing a loud kiss to his oldest's temple.

\---

Jason's been in charge of himself and himself only for so long that he forgets to tell them things. Like career day at school, like a field trip slip that he needs their signature on and ten dollars for. He just deals with it himself and it trickles down to them later when he tells them a funny zoo story. He's a little reckless with himself, too, tosses himself in front of danger more than he should, like he forgets that people care about him, want him to be safe and cared for at the end of the day. 

While it worries the both of them, Bruce is the one who's always there when the danger happens, and it's obviously bothering him the most. When they try to be more openly affectionate towards him, tell him that they want him home after every patrol, Jason just says they're being weird, and goes back to his book, waving them off. 

So one day when Bruce gives him _that_ look, Clark groans, leans his head against the back of the couch. "What now?"

"I think we should get Jason a dog," Bruce said, not even phased by his partner's tone.

"That's a lot of responsibility, babe. Think he could handle that?"

"I think he needs to understand how to have someone that needs him, at the end of the day. To feel needed by someone, when it's not life or death. He's wanted, he knows that, but it's not like either of us need his care to survive." 

Clark hummed. "Maybe. I think Alfred would prefer like, a hamster or something though. And you _know_ Dick's gonna be mad we didn't get him a dog when he lived here."

"Oh please. He can barely take care of himself, let alone a dog. He has enough of being needed by others. I think Jason needs to feel a little personal responsibility without it being overwhelming. If we think he's not handling it well, it'll become the family pet, and he'll still learn something from the experience." 

Clark sighed, sinking back into the couch. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Damn right I am. Always am," Bruce murmured, pressing a kiss to Clark's nose. 

Clark snorted, not noticing the warmth in Bruce's blue eyes as he gazed at his shining partner, his chin in his hand. "You are not. I resent that. Everyone always thinks so but they haven't been around you enough to know. I know how you screwed up that recipe because you thought you knew best last week. I can name several instances in which you were wrong recently, including a historical fact- mmh."

Trust Bruce to rile him up just to shut him up with a saucy kiss.

\---

At the shelter they visit, there's a visibly hurt German Shepherd in one of the cages, young and gnawing at the metal bars of her cage, and as soon as Jason sits down in front of her, looks at her with such burning, longing desire, Bruce knows he can't convince Jason to get a puppy instead. The volounteer tells them she was being used as a drug-mule, hence the stitches in her side, and might not be a suitable pet for a family just yet. 

"No, probably not," Clark said, and watched as Jason looked into her eyes, an understanding passing between boy and dog. When he tenatively stuck two fingers into the cage, she nosed them, before giving them a little lick. His delighted giggle sealed the deal. "But I think we're getting her anyway."

Ace was excitable and floppy-eared, barely a teenager herself, and Jason was absolutely enamored, taking her everywhere except school and playing with her almost non-stop. He teaches her a bunch of tricks, and whenever he's taught her a new one, it's always show-time. In the beginning, show time was almost every evening, where she did a little spin for a treat, and applause from the rest of the gathered family. Jason was always so gentle with her, giving her pats on the head and happy smiles and Bruce exudes so much pride and smugness that he was right that Clark has to kiss him to distract him. Ace follows on Bruce's and Jason's runs, and comes back and falls asleep in Clark's lap. When Dick comes to visit, she runs between him and Jason constantly, yipping happily. 

"About time we had a girl in this family. It was turning into such a sausage fest," Dick said, lying on his back on the floor with Ace's snout stuffed into his armpit and her tail flapping back and forth happily as he scratched her sides. 

Jason laughed, patting the space between his thighs. "Gross. Ace, come away from the bad man." 

Ace happily skipped over to her little master, giving him a licking as his face was at just the right height. 

"Hm," Bruce agreed, reaching over the side of the couch to ruffle Jason's hair and then pet Ace.

Despite worries she might be aggressive to other dogs and dislike humans, she seemed to really like the lot of them, at least. They'd introduced her to other superheroes from the JL whenever they came around, and while she seemed to dislike the Flash and J'onn, she never barked at them, just glued herself to her family and growled if they got too close. Diana was however allowed to pet her, and had recieved an excited lick once or twice. 

She had the desired effect, too. If Jason was gone on patrol later than he should be, she'd be pacing the cave waiting for him. Jason dodged more, started thinking with his head more than his fists. He was happier, too. He could be found reading curled up in a chair in the library, with Ace at his feet, or outside tossing a ball to her, when he wasn't studying at the kitchen table. Jason was a bright boy, loved learning once he got into it, and tested well. 

For a while, Bruce makes the PTA his side project, because he's got so much time (not! He does not. Clark doesn't understand this particular interest of his partner's, but he's not going to stop him). Bruce comes in with the loveable 'Gay Dad' personality and essentially stages a coup to unseat the current PTA mom queen bee. Jason and Clark watch him gossip on the phone with a totally straight face, and turn to each other with fear in their eyes. After Bruce has placed a more reasonable woman, named Jane, at the top of the food chain, he just stops going. Clark is baffled, but whenever he asks, Bruce just smiles at him. 

Because of his rough upbringing, Jason is determined. He's stubborn, and hard headed, and the moment his teenage hormones kick in, Bruce has met his match. He'll refuse to do chores unless Alfred asks, snap when Clark asks him about his friends, and sometimes just goes 'oh my GOD' and slams his door, for no apparent reason. His voice drops, and whenever it cracks, he looks like he's ready to kill anybody that heard it. Dick nearly lost a hand when he tried to comfort Jason about it. Despite eating like a college football player, he's still pretty short for a fifteen year old boy, barely as tall as Dick is, which seems to irk him quite a bit. He's a little angrier with the state of the world than he was before. 

Jason starts smoking in a classic rebellious teenager move, but stops when Clark shows him research about how dogs of smokers get allergies and cancer. Bruce's plan has backfired, a bit. Jason cares more about Ace than he does himself, sometimes. He snarks at teachers and gets a lot of detentions because of it, but he's never gotten a grade lower than a B, even in the classes he hates. When he turns fifteen, Bruce gives him an old watch he's inherited, and they talk watch history for all of breakfast, leaving Clark in the dust with their knowledge. 

They argue a lot, though never to the same explosive degree as with Dick. Jason shuts down instead, pulls away, stops talking to them. His silence leaves the manor ringing for hours after a fight. 

He never runs away, though. He shuts himself in, but he stays. Clark is sort of hopeful that will always be the case. He's deliriously happy that Jason has made himself a home here, that even when it gets rough, he wants to stay. That they've created a safe space for him, that it's enough.

Clark should know better. 

\---

Losing Jason is... Clark can't describe it. It's brutal. It's heartbreaking. It's every synonym to the word grief, it's every metaphor for it. He can't describe it, and he's supposed to be the one who's good with words, out of all of them, and he just watches the coffin sink down into the ground in silence, clutches a sniffling Dick to his side and watches as the light goes out of Bruce's eyes. 

Alfred stands with a supportive hand on Bruce's shoulder, squeezing tight. It's not Dick's quiet sobs that bother Clark most, today, or Bruce's vacant look. It's Alfred's devastatingly quiet heartbreak as he looks at all of them, like he doesn't know how he's going to scrape them off the pavement this time. It's a sunny day, and Clark suddenly hates the sunlight for shining on their plight, like they're under a spotlight. He doesn't want to be under a blue sky, right now, and there's nothing left for them to do at the graveyard anyway. They go home.

Wayne Manor is once again silent, the shroud of death covering the windows.

\---

Bruce continues to be Batman. The Joker goes to Arkham, and Clark takes out a two-week vacation, and spends it on the Kent farm, working under the sun's warm rays to get his energy, since he isn't sleeping. He cries a lot in his Ma's arms, and she holds him tight, takes him out to the rose garden behind their little house. Tells him about the siblings he should've had, and looks him in the eye with a glint that makes him know that she understands. That she knows, that he isn't alone. A picture of the four of them, of Clark, Bruce, Dick and Jason, resides in his wallet and by the end of week one, he's pulled it out to look at so many times that it's softening at the edges. 

It takes time to heal, as his mother keeps telling him, but after two weeks, it feels like a different ache, a different monster. He misses Bruce, misses Dick's sunshine smile and Alfred's caring little tuts, and for a moment the homesickness is so staggering that he's nauseous. So he packs up his things, tells Ma he'll call every week, and jets home.

When he steps back into the manor, he takes one deep, cool breath, inhaling centuries of history and grief, and then goes to find his partner, hiding down in his cave.

His stubble had begun growing in, but there was a nick on the sharp corner of Bruce's jaw that was only just visible with the cowl still on, suggesting he'd made an attempt at shaving. His shoulders were stiff under the cape, and while he was turned towards the screen, the way his hands were fists in his lap made Clark think he probably wasn't looking at the information on there. 

When Clark came down the last few steps, Bruce's heartbeat sped up, just a tick. Was that nervousness, or anticipation? He knew what was brewing in his own belly; anticipation and love and grief, but what about Bruce? He'd been so shattered that he couldn't be in this house, in this home, but what about his partner? His partner, who saw the ghosts of his parents whenever he roamed the streets of Gotham, who had sworn that he'd clean up the streets so no one would ever be in his position again. Who was now missing a child, as good as missing a limb. Jason hadn't been theirs for that much time in the long run, but he'd been _theirs_. Dick's little brother, their second baby. Their little Jaybird. 

Clark wasn't sure if the fact that this hadn't been an entirely mindless act of violence was better or worse. 

"Hey," Clark whispered, tenderly touching the scruff on Bruce's clenched jaw. "When was the last time you ate something? I didn't hear Alfred upstairs."

"He's on vacation," came Bruce's rough, unused voice from behind the Batman cowl. 

"Oh," Clark said, uselessly. He'd abandoned his partner in his time of need, and felt all the more shitty now that he saw the state Bruce was in. "Want me to get something for you?"

"No," Bruce said, gazing up at Clark, the clear lenses down for once, letting him see those beautiful blue eyes. It wasn't enough, all of a sudden, just to see Bruce's eyes. He needed him out of his armor, right now. When Clark tugged on the cowl, Bruce peeled it off, his hair slick with sweat and laying flat against his skull. "Thank you."

"Now I _know_ you're feeling like shit," Clark said, trying on a shaky smile for size. "You're not polite unless it's with Alfred, just like J-"

Clark cut himself off, horrified at his slip. Bruce closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then he smiled. It was by far the worst of his smiles, ever. It was downcast, heartbroken. Clark pressed a hand to his own face, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

"God, he was so cocky," Bruce chuckled wetly. He swiped ineffectually at his tears, and Clark felt his heart break for his usually so impervious partner. "Thought that he'd save the world and still be home in time to finish his homework."

Clark chuckled, but it felt like his heart was being ripped to shreds in his chest. "God. Yeah."

"The bank contacted me about his college fund and I had to hang up," Bruce said numbly, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, full of chittering bats. "He would've gone so far, y'know? It's always what gets me. He had so many more things to do. We'll never get to see him graduate high school, or send him off on his first date. Never get to see him take his pick of colleges." Clark took a deep, shaky breath to stave off the waterworks, and sank into the computer chair next to Bruce's.

He shook his head. "I should've heard him," Clark whispered, with tears clogging his throat. It was what had been ringing in his ears ever since he found out his second child died, while he was on Earth. He should've saved him, should've known, shouldn't have thought Jason's sketchy behavior was anything but a cry for help. 

"Oh, Clark," Bruce sighed, thinking back to his own nightmares, watching Jason fall off a cliff, listening to him sobbing, asking why Bruce hadn't been there for him, there to catch him like he'd promised. "He'd used the batcomputer to find her. _I_ should've known." 

"Ma told me any parent whose child has passed feels like a failure. That we're just grieving." Clark reached a hand out, and waited until Bruce's calloused, cold fingers wrapped around his own. "I think, for once, she doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Alfred's said the same thing. But we failed him, Clark. We should've known. Should've done something, more than arrive too late to save him." 

He nodded, brushing away his own tears again. "I know. I don't know if I can live with that, Bruce." 

Bruce took a deep, shaky breath. "Me neither."

They stared at each other numbly for a while, until Bruce shook his head. "The world needs Superman. You're going to stay right here."

Clark pressed a kiss to the back of Bruce's hand, cradling the appendage like it was a lifeline. He heard the unspoken _I need you_. "Gotham needs Batman. You're not going anywhere either. Got it?"

Bruce's nod was sharp, but he dragged Clark forward, so that they could press their foreheads together, wrapped up in the same guilt and therefore sharing the burden. It was simultaneously the heaviest and the lightest Clark's heart had felt all week.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: canonical character death, death of a child. Never Graphic! Just discussing the grief around it. Also, Clark and Bruce get pretty grim about it, but they don't do anything.  
> Also did I seriously post Jason Todd's death on his birthday?...yes. I'll go hide in the shame-corner.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to update about once a week, but I was working last night so I couldn't, sorry about that! Thank you so much for your sweet comments on the last chapter. Loved to hear that I made you cry, hah!  
> Enjoy this chapter! <3<3

Barbara Gordon is a fighter. They visit her in the hospital once, after hours, while Dick is always in there, every day whenever he's able. She's pale, but the same fire of determination burns in her eyes as before. Clark can tell this isn't going to hold her back, even if she also looks more like a frightened teenager than he's ever seen before.

"Hey Babs," Clark said, brushing her hair back. "How you doing?"

"Dad's really upset. I'm on a lot of pain medication, so there's that. Keeping this under lock and key, though, despite that," she murmured, waving between them. "Probably gonna have to move, again, which is annoying. I liked that apartment," she said, patting Clark's hand as he sat down next to her. "How are you guys doing?"

Clark winced. "We're... Muddling through."

Bruce flicked his lenses down, and looked her in the eyes. Her jaw hardened at the look. "I hope you know that we're here for you. That you can do anything you put your mind to, and that this isn't going to keep you down for long."

Barbara laughed, a little, but it was a brittle laugh. "Well. I'm not gonna walk again anytime soon."

Bruce nodded. "Okay. I don't need your legs though, I need your mind."

Clark elbowed his partner in the side, giving him a wide-eyed look. "Jesus B, what's the _matter_ with you."

The two bats didn't break their gaze. Barbara's lip twitched. "It's fine, Supes. I know what the bat-eared idiot is saying. It's reassuring in a way, that B's always gonna be a jerk."

Batman lowered his head, and flicked the lenses up again, nodding. "You always have a place with us, no matter what happens. If this is it for you, I get it. But I have a feeling that's not the case."

Barbara didn't reply, but from the calculating look on her face, Clark was guessing that Bruce was right, the bastard. 

\---

Six months after Jason's death, Dick drags them both to the graveyard, almost literally with Bruce. Dick leaves one of their favorite Nintendo games in the fresh earth, Clark leaves a bouquet of flowers, and Bruce brushes his fingers over Jason's name just once before they leave. It's emotional and awful, and Clark and Bruce meet eyes behind Dick's head and agree then and there, without saying a word, that they can't come back again, not for a long time. 

\---

Despite their loss, life goes on. Whenever Clark puts on the supersuit, he smiles and is kind, and when he peels it off and comes home to Bruce, they grieve together. It gets a little better, a little more bearable every day. Even Bruce stops looking like he's going to crack apart any second. He takes out his anger elsewhere, mostly against the unsuspecting boxing bags in the cave gym. 

When Bruce puts up Jason's ripped suit in one of the glass tubes in the cave, Clark tears it down, pushes it to the ground so it shatters into a million little pieces, just like his heart. It's their first big argument since Jason's death, and Clark yells himself hoarse. 

" _A good soldier_? He was our son!" he shouts, loud enough to rattle the glass of the rest of the cases, one with Dick's first Robin costume, another with Barbara's first Batgirl costume. Cherished memories. Jason dying alone, buried under rubble and hurting was _not_ , in any circumstance, a memory Clark wanted to immortalize like this. 

"It's to remind myself," Bruce growls, his voice deathly low, like that's going to stop Clark.

"He was a child! _Our_ child! He was not a soldier! How _dare_ you look me in the eye and demote him to that. Jason was more than a Robin. He was ours, too." Clark could feel the grief in his throat, clawing to get out. His eyes burned, but when he closed them to stop his heat vision from hurting Bruce, he felt the wet splash of tears on his cheeks instead. 

Clark pressed his thumbs between his eyes to try and stave them off, but once they'd been released there was no restraining them. God, he felt pathetic, crying over a costume. Bruce didn't make a sound as he approached, but Clark felt the swish of the cape as it licked against his calves. 

"I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you," Bruce said, his dark voice a little shaky. He brushed Clark's hair back from his forehead and pressed a dry kiss there. "The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. Not you, too."

"You, if anyone, can hurt me the most," Clark murmured, grinding his knuckles into his eyes. "You can't keep that costume there. Can't."

Bruce was quiet for some time, still standing close, comforting with his presence. "Then what? I need... I need a reminder."

"Reminder of what?"

"That I failed," Bruce said simply, and Clark opened his eyes to look at Bruce. He saw the same vacant look in his eyes as the one he'd had whenever they visited Jason's grave. "I need the reminder. That I fucked up, and that it had consequences for someone I... someone I loved."

Clark shook his head. "Not that. I don't want to be punished like that every time I'm down here." 

This is another point on which they differ. It's their fault, and Bruce wants to carry the hurt with him, wants to be punished all the time, while Clark can't do that to himself, when it gets down to it. It's a stalemate, in the end. Bruce doesn't put it back up, but Clark doesn't doubt that it's down there in the cave, somewhere out of his sight. 

They don't keep photos out of costume in the cave, so to honor Jason, Clark paints a portrait of their baby Robin, leaping over rooftops with Ace in a cape and mask, hot on his heels. He looks vibrant, _alive_. Like he should be. Alfred stares at it for quite some time when Clark asks for his opinion, and when he says it's perfect, Clark is decent enough to turn his head when the old man wiped his eyes.

Dick helps him hang it up between the two glass tubes with costumes, and suggests the inscription: 

_Jason Todd, Robin II._

_How very softly you tiptoed into our world, almost silently, only a moment you stayed. But what an imprint your footsteps have left upon our hearts._

He catches Bruce looking at it, once, and smiling the tiniest of smiles he can manage. It's something, at least. Clark will take it. 

\---

"That's it," Bruce says on one of the bad days, eyes wild and pleading. "No more. That's all the kids we're ever having."

Clark promises that it is, that Jason will be their last one. He bites back the protests, knows that their wound is too raw, still. He doesn't say that he'd raise a billion kids, as long as it was their kids; as long as Bruce was with him on it. But he sees Bruce's begging for mercy, for time to protect his heart again, and Clark lets him. He shuts up about any more kids, but continues to say that if he's not going to let any metas operate in Gotham, meaning _him_ , he needs a new partner in the field. 

They spend more time alone together than they ever have, all of a sudden. Dick isn't home, even occasionally skips Mandatory Sunday Dinners because he 'doesn't have time', and they stop going out on dinner dates. Mostly, they just want to be by themselves.

It's why any visit is so weird, nowadays. Clark is working from home, even when Lois has encouraged him to come back to work more than once, with Bruce's support. Even Alfred has told him he looks a bit peaky and that the fresh air of Metropolis might do him some good. He stubbornly refuses, but mostly because he hasn't wanted to leave Bruce's side since those first two weeks.

"The masters have a young guest," came Alfred's voice over the intercom, making Clark jerk out of his daydreams and making Bruce's paper rustle.

Bruce looked up from the sports section, raising an eyebrow at Clark, who shrugged, but saved his document and put the computer in sleep mode, and stood up. "After you?"

Sighing deeply, Bruce got up, and lead the way to the entrance hall. There, standing in the middle of the floor, was a little boy. Bruce stopped at the top of the stairs, making Clark stop in his tracks too. 

It's the same dark hair, blue eyes, and Clark has a split second of thinking it's Jason before he sees the hunched shoulders, takes another look at the boy's face. It's not Jason. The boy is smaller, for one, younger for sure. His eyes, at second glance, are a steely blue, almost ice blue in their intensity. It's not their lost son. Bruce frowns at the boy. 

"Hello?" he said with a raised eyebrow. 

The boy stared at them with wide eyes. "You're Batman," the little boy said softly but with bright eyes, pointing a shaky finger towards Bruce, and then Clark. "And you're Superman. And Dick Grayson was Robin, and Jason Todd is Robin. Was, Robin."

The _was_ hit both Clark and Bruce in the chest like a punch, and Clark clutched at the bannister for a second, taking a deep breath. 

Bruce grit his teeth. "Very funny. I'm assuming you're joking, here."

Clark shot his lover a look, before looking back at the boy. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Timothy Drake," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

"Jack Drake's boy?" Bruce said, and immediately the enthusiastic glow around the boy dimmed a little. 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"Shouldn't you be in school right now?" Clark asked gently.

Tim shook his head. "This is a little more important than school."

"And what, exactly, is _this_?" Bruce asked, leaning against the bannister with an impatient look on his face.

Tim took a deep breath. "I'm your next Robin."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "If I'm going to entertain your ridiculous claim: says who?"

Tim faltered. "Well, I do."

Bruce scoffed. "Forget it. I'll have Alfred drive you to school." He turned to walk away, and Tim's eyebrows furrowed. 

"Batman _needs_ a Robin!" he shouted, rushing forward a few steps. When Bruce turned his glare on him, Tim stood firm.

Clark couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. Even Dick had trouble with that glare, still. "Batman needs a Robin, and you know it. Without Robin, you're reckless and ruthless. It's not justice when you're just being brutal. Let me be Robin. I can _do_ it." 

"You think you have what it takes?" Bruce snarled, angered at his bold words. "You're not even ten, Tim. You can't fight, you don't know how, and you're too young."

"I figured out who you are. I know-" he paused to swallow, "I know Richard Grayson was Robin when he was ten. And I learn fast!"

"Not fast enough," Bruce said curtly. "Not nearly fast enough. It's not enough, Tim." He turned and walked away, and left

Clark standing awkwardly in the entrance hall with a very dejected child. 

"I'm sorry he's like that. We just... we really miss Jason," Clark said, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's almost lunch time, isn't it? Let's get some food in you, before we drop you off at home."

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, looking displeased, but when Clark showed the way into the kitchen, he followed. Alfred was doing the laundry since it was Thursday, so the kitchen was empty. Clark whipped up a quick grilled cheese, and set up a glass of juice for the boy now seated at the kitchen island. His feet didn't even reach the floor. Clark understood Bruce's reservations. 

"So, what about you makes you so super?" Tim asked, nibbling on the grilled cheese. Clark cut up an apple, and chewed on a slice as he thought about it. An idea began forming in his mind.

"What do you think makes someone super?" Clark asked. Tim tilted his head, chewing as he considered that. 

"I don't know. Being good at something, that's usually being super. What are you good at?"

"I'd like to say I'm good at helping people."

Tim considered that. "Then why don't you help Batman?"

Clark cringed at the casual use of the name outside of costume, but smiled at him. "We've got sort of a deal, him and I. Unless we're working together on something, we stay out of each other's super-business. Gotham is his territory, not mine."

"That's stupid."

Clark shrugged. "Tell me about it. It's one of his hard drawn lines in the sand, though. And I know he knows what he's doing when it comes to Gotham. I don't particularly like it when he butts in on Metropolis business, either."

"Is that why you don't go with him at night?" Tim asked. 

Clark placed a few of the apple slices on his plate. "Yes. Technically because he doesn't want any meta humans operating in Gotham, and I am very much a meta, but yes."

"You should!"

Clark shook his head. "I wouldn't get a foot out the door in costume before he told me to back off."

"Well he can't just go out alone!" Tim said, waving with his grilled cheese in hand. "Can't you see he's getting out of control?"

Leaning on the kitchen island on his elbows, Clark frowned. "What would you do about it, then?" he asked, mostly just curious. 

"Batman's forgetting he's human, he's letting his sadness cloud his thoughts," Tim said. "He needs to be reminded that the people he's putting away are people too. I'd make him back off if he went too far." 

There was a righteous fire in Tim's eyes, burning with blue flame. Clark could feel his sincerity like goosebumps running up his arms, saw the sure stance of a boy who saw injustice and was going to fix it, whatever it took. It was Dick jumping off buildings and laughing wearing yellow, red and green; it was Jason putting his domino on in front of the mirror and grinning at it. It was the look of a _Robin_ , ready to take flight.

"Huh," Clark said, but what he was really thinking was _yes_.

\---

Bruce is adamant that Tim isn't for them, and Clark sees the terrified look in his eyes, the one that says _please don't hurt me_ , so he makes his points but leaves it at that. Despite having learned the art of subtlety over the years, Dick doesn't have the same reservation when it comes to his guardian. He arrives three days after their little visitor, and finds Bruce in the cave. 

"Take him in," Dick said, sliding down the last of the railing into the cave and crossing over to the computer panel.

"Who?" Bruce asked, turning around in his chair and crossing his arms. 

"You got more than one kid knocking on your door asking to be let in? Tim, of course. You need a Robin, and it's not me, and it's not..." They both avoided eye-contact. "Take him in, B. You need to balance out your dark and gloomy, and Tim's the man for the job."

"He's a child," Bruce protested. 

"So was I! That's one of the requirements for Robin, at this point. I don't think that excuse is going to cut it, actually."

"He has a father and stepmother to go home to."

Dick shrugged, crossing his arms back at Bruce. "So? How did a little kid like that get to your house in the middle of a weekday without being in some serious trouble? Nobody pays him any attention, B. I think what he needs is some love, some food and some training and he'll be right as rain."

"What's with the hillbilly-idioms?" Bruce said, spinning back to his computer. Dick hopped up on his desk, kicking his feet. 

"Stayed with Ma and Pa this weekend 'cause they asked and I wasn't busy. Don't try to change the subject on me. Take him in. If not for any good reason, then for the simple reason that he's ten years old and he figured out the secret that's most important to you in the world. Don't you wanna pick his little brain?"

"He recognized your flip," Bruce said, glancing up at him from the corner of his eye. "He'd gone to Haley's when he was a child and seen you do that somersault you love, and then later saw footage of Robin in a similiar costume doing the same flip. Followed me for weeks to gather evidence to prove his point."

Dick gaped. "Huh. How come you didn't notice him? If he's been researching us, following us for weeks?" 

Bruce pursed his lips. "He blended into the crowd. He never trespassed, or drew attention to himself."

"See? He's a little shadow himself. Don't be stupid. It's a neglected child looking for shelter. You're a sucker for those." When Bruce didn't answer, Dick sighed. "He came to me first, you know. He said I needed to be Robin again."   
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Dick grinned, shaking his head. "No, not a chance, dad. I'm doing pretty good for myself, I'd say."

"Yes, the picture of responsiblity. You should get a haircut," Bruce snarked, and Dick laughed, making Bruce's lips twitch. 

"I'm thinking of growing it out, actually. What do you think?"

"I think you spend enough time on your hair, as is. How will you fit in your duties as Nightwing if it takes you more time to do your hair than getting into the costume?"

At that, Dick chuckled. "Y'know, no one believes me when I say you have a sense of humor."

Bruce snorted. "Good. Stop spreading lies, Dick."

Dick tapped his fingers against the desk, tilting his head. "What's pop say? About Tim?"

"That he obviously needs a hand to hold. That he's reached out to us and that we should at least take him in, so he doesn't end up hanging around the wrong kinds of people."

The young man nodded. "I agree. From what Tim said, you're starting to get reckless, old man, and as funny as it would be to see the GCPD bust you for the vigilateism, I also think pop would be pretty mad if you got arrested."

He waved his ward off. "If they haven't arrested me yet, I doubt they're ever going to."

Dick shook his head, amazed at Bruce's cavalier attitude. "Tim's obviously right. I know losing Jason hit us all hard-" 

He didn't get further into that sentence before Bruce stood up quickly, staring deep into Dick's eyes. "Don't brush him off like that. He was your brother, Dick," Bruce said, his voice deathly quiet.

"And you don't think I miss him?" Dick snapped, mad that tears were welling up in his eyes before he could try to stop it. Confused at how they always managed to fight, even when they were joking around a second ago. "God, I keep thinking the first thing I'll be greeted by when I come over is Ace and Jason, running up to the door to tell me something he learned in school today. Alfred still almost sets a plate for him at the table. He stacks four plates in the kitchen but only brings three into the dining room. Don't fucking think you can monopolize grief, B. You're not that goddamn good."

"There are my boys!" called Clark from the top of the stairs, striding towards them. Bruce and Dick both backed away one step, turning away from each other. Dick drew up a bleak smile for his other dad.

"Hey pop. Do you think I could pull off a mullet?" he asked. 

Clark slowed his steps in surprise, and shook his head. "Whatever you wanna do, kiddo, as long as you let Alfred take as many pictures as he can."

"I'm sure that decision is going to come back and bite you on the ass," Bruce mumbled. "Excuse me."   
From _that_ look on his face, Clark could tell that Bruce had made a decision, and he felt warmth burn in his gut. "Hey."

Bruce turned his head towards Clark, and rolled his eyes at the look on his face. Their many years of silent communication definitely paid off. "Yes, I know," he said, darting forward to plant a fast kiss on his lips. "Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere nice?"

"Yeah," Clark agreed, flushing a little as Bruce smiled and moved towards the batmobile. 

"You guys are gross," Dick said, in the same tone he'd used when he was a little kid and was afraid he'd get their cooties. Nowadays though, the tone was accompanied by a little happy smirk. 

"Your parents are in love, deal with it," Bruce called as he hopped into the batmobile, making Clark grin. 

"Yeah yeah," Dick said, rolling his eyes as Clark drew him into a side-hug and kissed his temple, brushing his hand over the long, luscious hair there.

"Y'know, why don't I give you a hand with the hair? I'm sure I could do a mullet for you. Let's ask Alfred if he's got some hair-cutting scissors. He used to do your dad's hair when he was little, y'know," Clark said, ruffling the soft strands and leading Dick up the stairs. 

"Oh, that definitely adds up. B had very posh hair for a ten year old, I'm sure," Dick laughed. 

"Oh you bet," Clark grinned back, happy that he could still make his boy laugh. 

\---

The thing is, it _works_. Tim approaches Robin-training with a single-mindedness that seems to baffle even Bruce. When Tim starts swinging a Bo staff, Bruce sends him off to learn from someone more experienced than him with that, and while it sets Clark's teeth a bit on edge, he doesn't fight Bruce too hard about it. He knows, if anyone, how much to push human boundaries. After a while, Clark realizes Bruce is stalling, though, putting Tim through the paces that none of the others had to go through to be Robin. 

Tim finds the detective part most interesting, which Bruce seems to enjoy. Clark keeps finding them pouring over files, debating theories and having a rapport that Bruce never had with Jason, or Dick for that matter. He watches Bruce's eyes track Tim when the boy isn't looking, proud and heart breaking a little, because he knows Bruce's heart is guarded more now, hardened with grief. He can't say he's proud of Tim, can't offer the familial reassurance he would have with their other boys.

But because Tim is so much like Bruce, he doesn't notice, or at least doesn't mind, even though it's painfully obvious to Clark that he could use a pat on the back sometimes. Clark has to keep peeling the two of them away from their work all the time. Tim is just as likely to go on a case-solving binge and skip school as Bruce is, and it worries him. Whenever Bruce tries to tell him off about it, Tim just pulls up a list of unsolved cases, and sidetracks the both of them. 

He's also not as naturally athletic as Jason or Dick was. Dick was an acrobat first and crime-fighter second, and Jason brawled with street kids a lot before he ever put on the suit. Tim performs moves with technical precision, but doesn't do great in fights. Bruce wants him to be more prepared than the others, makes him do things over and over until it's just right.

Despite himself, Clark doesn't protest, still. He just mops up Tim's sweat, watches anxiously when they sparr, and can't help but worry that Bruce is going to break him. 

He doesn't. He should know better than to underestimate Tim. 

It takes three and a half years before Bruce thinks he's ready, but when he does, it's been so long that Tim has just turned into a permanent fixture at the manor, hanging out there when he's not at school. They hand the suit over to him on a Thursday, which Clark remembers because he marked it in his calendar, was anticipating Bruce's anxiousness about it. 

"Where are the pants?" Tim asks, squinting at them like he thinks they're joking. Bruce lets him design his own suit after that, and it's much more protective than before. Tim doesn't need Dick's range of mobility for flips, and he doesn't have Jason's natural brawn, allowing for more padding for protection. If Clark sees Bruce tinker on the armor until it's perfect, he doesn't say anything to Tim, who steps into the Robin suit and looks like he grows two feet in a second, his head held high and shoulders back with pride and strength. Clark knows the feeling, rubs his fingertips over the space on his chest where his insignia rests, under his shirt. 

"You look great, Tim," Clark said, because Bruce wasn't going to, was looking at the armor like he was looking for ways to perfect it still, even when Clark knows he's spent more than twenty-four hours on it minus the manufacturing at this point.

"Yeah?" Tim said, a shy smile breaking through on his lips. Clark could only smile back. 

"Yeah. That suit looks like it was _made_ for you," he said, and when Tim grinned and shook his head, Clark laughed for real, maybe for the first time since they lost Jason. "What?"

"Well, it _was_ made for me, Clark," Tim said in a classic exasperated teenager voice, just so much more open and expressive than he was as a child and Clark's heart swelled just looking at him. He dragged Tim into a hug, smelling the leather and the kevlar of the suit, feeling the strong fibers under his fingertips. 

"Yeah, I know. Proud of you, Timmy. You deserve it." Clark should know better than to underestimate his partner, too.  
"Yes. You worked hard for this. I'm... I'm proud of you too, Tim," Bruce said. While it looked like it took everything out of him just to say it, Tim's cheeks flushed and his eyes brightened behind the domino. 

"Thanks, B," he said, and Clark wrapped an arm around his partner, kissing his cheek in reward for dealing with human emotion today. "Are we leaving soon?"

"Yes. Check your gear first now that we're not in a rush," Bruce directed, and Tim nodded, running his hands over the pouches on his belt, checking his supplies as Clark dragged Bruce out of sight in the locker rooms, for just a moment.

When Clark pushed him up against a locker gently, Bruce raised a challenging eyebrow, and grabbed the back of Clark's head. Taking care to be quiet, Clark groaned as he pressed a kiss to Bruce's sharp jaw, his chin before he even touched his lips. 

"Look at you go, baby," Clark said huskily, entranced by Bruce's vulnerable eyes and defiantly tilted chin. 

"Why is this always such a goddamn ordeal," Bruce growled, probably annoyed at both Clark and himself. Clark stroked his sides soothingly, let Bruce's strong fingers clench in his hair.

"No injuries on patrol tonight and I'll treat you to something good when you get home," Clark promised, and felt him shiver. 

"Oh yeah?" Bruce breathed, always upping the ante with him. 

Clark wet his lips, nipping at Bruce's plump ones. "Yeah."

"Well, with such an enticing offer," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Clark's lips before pulling away, "how could I possibly resist?"

They both smiled at each other, happy about this new start, about a new Robin on Gotham's streets. For a moment, they were healed, watching a new, bright future unfold in front of them. It was nice, but it was only a moment before Bruce got into his bat-suit, and strode off into the night. 

For the first time in a very long time, Clark saw two capes hop into the Batmobile and take off into the night, and all felt right in the world. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote for Jason's plaque is by Dorothy Ferguson and I just thought it was a beautiful two lines to remember him by.  
> Also while editing this I realized the sheer amount of italics I use when I write, and I'm sorry lol. Whoops.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for your sweet comments, they're inspiring and make me really happy.  
> Uni is starting on monday and I'm also helping the new kids get acclimated soooo... I'll be very busy the coming two weeks! I'll try my best to still write but, well. Busy bee! So if you don't hear from me for a little while, that's why!  
> Hope you enjoy this little longer chapter! Enjoy <3<3

Tim is good at being a vigilante, but he doesn't seem to enjoy the community of it very much. Robin tags along on a lot of JL things in the beginning, when Bruce doesn't trust him to be alone on patrols, and after a while, it's very clear that Tim is more independent than their other Robins. He solves cases without Bruce ever needing to be involved, and that's what makes Bruce finally shove him at a team. 

The Titans are too old for him, but Bart Allen is about the same age, or at least the youngest they've got. Clark expects Tim to be exasperated by the young boy, but he's mostly just amused. It's reassuring, at least, that he has someone other than just them, when push comes to shove.

Robin takes on new responsibilites, becomes a superhero in his own right, and is allowed out on his own, but he has to let them know where he is a lot. The first few "alone" patrols, Clark is hovering nearby, but from Tim's annoyed look, he obviously notices this. 

Dick goes out with him once or twice, and mumbles about the pants, but gives him a definite seal of approval. He's taken care to spend more time with them now, apologizing to Clark for drifting away after Jason's death. Of course, they welcomed him back with open arms, even Bruce. It was nice to see more of him, even if he dashed off with the Titans a lot. At least he seemed to be a good influence on Tim, who was always a little swept along by Dick's generally cheerful attitude.

One day at Thursday tea time, when Tim was doing his latest alone-on-patrol report, he suddenly stopped, pressed his lips together. 

Bruce looked up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow at him. "What, Tim?"

When he didn't say anything, Dick looked up from his crumbly cookie too. "Anything big brewing, you think?"

At Clark's encouraging look, Tim took a deep breath. "There's a new vigilante in Gotham. I tried to talk to her, but she..." He blushed a little, shaking his head. "She lost me when she dipped into an alley. I don't really know what she wants, or who she is."

"But we know she's a she, huh? She any cute?" Dick asked, with a teasing, big brother grin. It was always nice to see that look on their oldest's face. Just like they felt they'd failed as parents, Dick had felt he'd failed as a big brother, and he was taking extra care not to make the same mistakes with Tim.

"Shut up, Dick," Tim said, and then seemed mortified he'd spurred the older boy on. Dick's eyes quite literally lit up. 

"Oh my god, she is! Bruce, I'm going on patrol with you tonight!"

Bruce seemed more concerned with the vigilante than the fact that Tim might've had a little crush on her. "How do you know she's a vigilante?"

"She helped me take down some robbers, over at the city bank? She was wearing a lot of purple."

"Eggplant, not purple. About five-four, blonde, mask over her face?" Bruce asked, covering the bottom part of his face with his hand to demonstrate.

"You know who she is?" Tim asked, maybe a little more energetically than he would have usually.

Bruce hummed. "Spoiler. I've met her before. I've asked O to keep an eye on her, just so she doesn't kick a bigger wasp nest than she can handle."

"And you're just going to let her run around Gotham unchecked?" Dick asked incredulously."

Bruce shrugged, pulling his newspaper up again. "I've seen her work. She does fine." 

From Bruce's too casual tone, Clark could sense that there was more to the story than that, but he didn't say anything, preferring to confront Bruce out of sight of the kids. Of course, Dick had no such qualms.

"Oh my god. You're lying! You know I'll just ask Babs, and she _will_ tell me what's up," Dick threatened. 

"Will she? Who are you dating right now, Dick?" Bruce asked pointedly. 

Dick gaped. "Babs doesn't care! Our break-up was amicable!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Which one?" 

Dick huffed without rising to the bait, turning instead to nudge Tim. "So, B, is Spoiler Timmy's age?"

Leaning back, Bruce shook his head. "I'm not getting involved in this. I taught you to be a detective, do the footwork."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Long story short, yes, Spoiler is allowed to be in Gotham, and she's one of ours. Don't need to dwell on it more than that, Dick."

Dick managed to wrangle himself into that evening's patrol anyway, but it seemed like Bruce allowed it mostly so they wouldn't have to fight. It seemed at the moment that the two of them weren't fighting like alley cats over the last scraps of food today, but that could always change at the drop of a hat, depending on either of their moods. Clark was happy that Bruce was learning when to push it, with Dick.

Once the two of them were alone in Bruce's office, with Dick taking Tim out for ice cream and shopping (and probably to press information, honestly. He took his big brother duties too seriously on occasion), Clark spread his hands, making an inquisitive face. "So?"

"Stephanie Brown. Her dad's the Cluemaster. She left a trail of clues to let me know about one of his schemes so I could stop him, before it even really managed to take off," Bruce explained, rounding his big desk and sitting down in the high-backed chair. 

Clark frowned. "Oh. That's... a little concerning. How old is she?"

"A year older than Tim, maybe. She still saw injustice and wanted to fix it. I've got O on her, just to see that she doesn't toe the line, but that might've backfired a little. I thought Barbara would dislike her," Bruce said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw consideringly.

Clark chuckled, and strolled around to the other side of the desk too, getting Bruce's hand on his thigh when he leaned back against the mahogany. "Never underestimate how much Barbara likes someone. That's always when she likes them the most."

Bruce hummed. "Maybe Tim, too."

"Yeah, he seemed pretty starry-eyed by this _Spoiler_ ," Clark grinned. Bruce groaned, tilting his head back and baring his throat enticingly. 

"I keep forgetting how horny teenagers are," he muttered.

Clark laughed out loud that time, lacing their fingers together on his thigh. "How is that even possible for you to forget? Dick went through a box of Kleenex a week, for a while there."

Bruce frowned. "Why on earth would you remind me of that? I'd happily repressed that memory."

Still snorting to himself, Clark pressed an apology kiss to Bruce's cheek. "Sorry. Just, y'know, Tim's just getting into that teenager stage now too."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Spoiler is going to be a topic of conversation a lot around here, from now on," Bruce sighed.

"Guess we're stocking up on Kleenex again, huh?"

Of all the things to feel excited about... Clark shook his head at himself. He just loved that it showed how after all this time, Bruce was willing to let someone in again, was ready to accept Tim as theirs. The door for more kids was suddenly unlocked, carefully propped open. To celebrate, Clark leaned down and pressed a not so gentle kiss against Bruce's lips, making the other man hum consideringly. 

"Lock the door," Bruce whispered, and Clark zipped over to the door quickly. "Only time I'll let you do that," his partner grumbled when Clark climbed into his chair with him, but it was soon lost in between their kisses.

\---

Despite their joking, Clark hasn't really considered the fact that Tim might genuinely like a girl he hasn't even had a real conversation with yet. After some time though, it's obvious that Tim does have _something_ for her, but Clark can't really imagine the serious boy so rattled by a girl, for some reason. At least, until he meets her. 

"Hey, you must be Supes! I'm Spoiler," she said, stretching a hand out towards Clark. He wasn't exactly out of costume, and not entirely in it, just the usual look he had at home in the manor: no glasses, hair mussed, bare feet and a flannel shirt along with worn jeans. Sort of concerning that that was her first conclusion, but, well... They were in the batcave, and Batman was right there, so who else the only other adult man could be was sort of obvious, if she'd interacted with the rest of the vigilantes in Gotham at any length of time. 

He blinked, but shook her gloved hand. "Hi. Yes. I like your costume. It's very... purple."

"Eggplant, actually. But yes! Thank you! I made it," she declared. Her presence was commanding, but more like someone with a lot of confidence, rather that someone with a lot of experience. People followed Bruce for his know-all, and Dick for his confidence. Spoiler seemed to be mostly column B, not a lot of column A. 

"Very nice. Me too," Clark said, rubbing the back of his head and yawning. "B, you don't happen to be messing around with the kryptonite you have?"

"No. Why? Do you feel ill?" Bruce asked, sweeping toward him fast as if he thought Clark was going to pass out on the spot. Fair assumption if kryptonite was involved, but apparently that wasn't the case. 

"No, I just feel really tired. I probably just need some sun, it's fine," Clark waved him off, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of Bruce's glove to reassure him. Bruce hummed, but it was an annoyed hum, like he didn't believe that for a second and was already contemplating how to best get some blood from him to run tests on.

"Oh!" Spoiler said, a hand coming up to her mouth. 

Tim sighed. "Yeah, I know. They're very lovey-dovey. It's kind of gross."

She snorted. "I can't believe you'd call _Batman_ lovey-dovey."

"Yes, Robin," Batman agreed in his dangerous voice, "I can't believe you." 

Tim rolled his eyes, but wisely shut up. Spoiler had no such reservations. "I mean, I'm seeing it with my own eyes and I barely believe it. I mean, Supes... you _like_ him? For his personality?"

Clark chuckled and scratched at his scalp, not letting Bruce's hand go. "Yes? I mean. It'd be pretty stupid of me to live with him otherwise, y'know?"

"Nightwing told me he was the reason you moved in in the first place," Robin said, whacking out his bo staff and leaning against it casually.

Clark gaped. "What? I mean- I guess, at first that's why I moved in. But I've lived here longer than he has, at this point."

Tim shrugged. "True."

Bruce kissed the back of Clark's hand sneakily before he let it go, and moved towards his computers. "If we're all done discussing things that have nothing to do with our mission tonight, we can go over plans. And Kal?"

Clark, who was already on his way back up the stairs, turned. "Hm?"

"Go to the farm for the evening. Get some sun," Bruce ordered, but the look was nothing but a plea. Yeah, Clark wouldn't like worrying about Bruce either when he was on his way into a mission of some sort.

"Will do, B," he promised, and saw the minute tension leave his partner's shoulders. "Love you. You too, Robin! Be safe tonight."

Tim waved at him as the three of the remaining vigilantes gathered around Bruce's screen, gearing up for a fight. Clark watched Stephanie lean over Tim's shoulder, saw the way the boy tensed up at her blonde hair brushing against his arm.

Oh yeah, they were definitely going to have some teenage drama coming soon. 

\--- 

Clark's been a parent long enough that it doesn't surprise him when his gut instinct is correct. There's teen drama on the way, just less 'I can't tell if she likes me so I'm going to annoy her until she shoves me off a rooftop' (which is the kind he's very used to) and more 'this is a serious situation that needs to be dealt with right now'. 

"I kissed Steph!" Tim blurted out one evening when they were folding laundry in front of the TV. 

Clark raised his eyebrows, gaping, about as shocked as Tim seemed to be as he fumbled with folding a t-shirt. "Oh, wow. Um. Did you enjoy yourself?"

Tim blushed, from the tips of his ears down to his collar. "I- yeah. I mean. Yes." 

Despite having been the dad to two teenage boys, and now having Tim around a lot, Clark was still blindsided by them wanting to tell him about their love-lives. He could recall telling his Ma he was sweet on Lana, when he was younger, and telling her that he was in love with a man and raising a boy with him, but he'd never told her details. "Oh, um. Good. Steph too, right?"

"Yeah," Tim said, looking up at the ceiling like he was bracing himself for something, before exhaling deeply, and twisting his fingers into the blue shirt he was holding. "She's pregnant."

Clark's jaw dropped again. "Holy cow. Is it..."

"Some ex-boyfriend's," Tim hurried to explain. "She's just, I don't know. She's not dealing with it well, I don't think. Or just, y'know. She feels like she doesn't give a shit anymore. I just don't know what to do." 

Tim sounded so genuinely upset about not being able to help his friend that Clark's hand instinctively sought to reassure him with a hand at the back of his neck, squeezing. "Okay. This is one of those times were the adults step in. Is that alright?"

Sagging a little with relief, Tim nodded, closing his eyes when Clark pulled him into a little side hug, squishing both Tim and the pile of warm laundry between them. 

Of course, Bruce takes it about as well as Clark expected him to.

"Oh Jesus Christ," he said, resting his head in his hands with his elbows on his desk. "Horny teenagers. I've got to get R&D to get that male contraceptive going."

"Just because we're old as dirt and about as likely to get pregnant as-"

"Don't tempt fate, Clark," Bruce cut him off, raising his head to give him the stink eye. "The universe will come bite us in the ass."

"Don't think you'd have the childbirthing hips needed anyways," Clark muttered under his breath, and Bruce took a deep breath, like he was trying to keep his cool. 

"What did I _say_ about tempting fate? You better pray the imps aren't listening, jackass."

Clark shook his head, trying to get the conversation back on track. "We have to do something. I know pregnancy doesn't make a girl unable to things, but getting beaten up every night is definitely not a good, stress free environment for a growing child."

Bruce pressed his fingertips together. "Did Tim know what she was planning to do? Is she going to raise the child herself? Is it too late for an abortion?"

"He didn't say. I don't think he wanted to betray his friend's confidence more than he already had," Clark said, eyeing his partner. "Bruce. What are we going to do?"

"First step will be to confront her. Her mom probably doesn't know yet, or care if she does know," Bruce murmured. "Stephanie's a smart girl. She'll do what she feels is right for herself."

"We'll help," Clark demanded of his partner up front. "If she wants to keep the baby, she can move in with us, we pay for everything, she gets to stay in school, go to college if she wants to; the whole deal."

Bruce sighed, but nodded. "Yes, Clark. We'll help. Whichever way she'll let us."

Clark nodded too. "Whatever way she wants."

\---

After watching her for a week, Clark notices that her reactions are a bit slower, and she looks a little more exhausted and pale. She eats the snacks Alfred piles in the cave for their vigilantes, but never comes up for dinner, or stays for breakfast anymore. 

It's surprisingly hard to get Stephanie alone, because when she's not with them, she's with friends, or with Tim and Babs, but when they do get to her, it's before patrol. She arrived ten minutes ago, and she looks exhausted, a little green around the gills, and gaunt. 

Just staring at her, it hit Clark that the buzzing sound he's been hearing around her recently isn't some new gadget, it's a _heartbeat_ , centered in her lower abdomen. He must have made some sort of face, because Bruce grunted in annoyance and stepped away from him, approaching Stephanie's chair in front of the computer panel. 

"Stephanie, we need to talk," Bruce said, as if those weren't the scariest words in the English language. Clark really should've started this, and not gotten side-tracked, but, well. If you're too slow, Batman picks up your slack.

Immediately, her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh yeah? About what?"

"Your recent performance," he said, and Stephanie was on her feet in a second, looking pissed off already. Great start, Bruce, really.

"I didn't mess up on that bust! They must've known we were coming, or just been really paranoid. You'd goddamn know how that feels, huh, B? Mr. Paranoia!"

"Not that. You look exhausted, Spoiler. Are you sleeping?"

"Yes," she snapped, brushing her fingertips under an eye subconsciously. "None of your beeswax."

"It is my business, actually. Sleep deprivation slows your reaction times, makes you unable to make those quick decisions that save lives," Bruce said, snapping his fingers and observing her minute flinch at the sound. "I don't want you on the streets until you've had a good night's sleep."

"Oh my god, you're such a hypocrite. You do this all the time, but the second I can't sleep, I'm benched?"

"Yes. In that I'm the adult," Bruce said, unremorseful. From the enraged look on Stephanie's face, it was clear to Clark that Bruce wasn't going to come out of this unharmed, so he decided to step in.

"We're just a bit worried about you," he hurried to soothe. "You just don't seem like yourself lately. We just want you to be as safe as you can, and that includes eating and sleeping."

"Yes. You shouldn't be patrolling tonight," Bruce said, his face blank.

"Shut up! You're not my dad, you can't say what I can or cannot do," Stephanie snapped. When Clark opened his mouth, she pointed an accusing finger at him too. "Neither are you, Clark!"

"Steph," Clark said softly, hands up in the air, deciding to start this conversation over, somewhere better. "Honey, we _know_."

Her eyes widened when they looked at each other, and her hand shook as she raked it through her hair, gritting her teeth. "Fucking Tim. God, can't trust anybody these days."

"We want to help," Clark said. Stephanie shook her head and wiped at her eyes, looking for once like a scared teenager, rather than her usual cocky self. "Any way you need us to."

"This is one of those times where you should probably accept the help being offered," Bruce suggested, and Clark nudged him in annoyance. 

"Fuck off," Steph said, her voice shaky, and Clark's heart broke. He opened his arms, trying to keep the sympathy off his face and probably failing spectacularly. Internally, he was thinking of ways to kick her mom and dad into gear, how to get them to help their child, but the more possessive part of him wanted to keep her safe himself, wrap her up in Bruce's cape and protect her. 

"Oh _sweetheart_ ," he said, and she stared at him for a few seconds in total silence, before she collapsed into his opened arms, little hiccups escaping her as she broke down in tears. 

Clark is a pretty big guy, which was further enhanced by the feel of Stephanie's slight body curled up against him. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head, meeting eyes with Bruce. _Look at her_ , Clark thought, and Bruce sighed. 

"What I meant to say, is that we're here for you, Stephanie. No matter what happens," Bruce said, his voice lower in shame for his vulnerability. 

"What I meant to say, is that we're here for you, Stephanie. No matter what happens," Bruce said, his voice lower in shame for his vulnerability. 

Stephanie turned her head to meet his eyes from Clark's embrace.

"I can't do this," Steph sniffled. "I-I don't think I can..."

"Okay," Bruce said, brushing a hand over her hair in a quick gesture of comfort. "Okay. We'll figure this out, the way you want it. I promise."

Stephanie nodded, wiping at her eyes, but she let herself be held and comforted for a little while more. Bruce's eyes were calculating when he looked at them, but Clark knew that he was considering a cover story, how he was going to fix this for her, how he was going to help. 

It's what everyone kept forgetting about the Batman. Underneath his asshole exterior, all he really wanted to do was help, make the world a better place. 

\---

Paparazzi manage to snap a picture of Steph waddling up their steps when she's a couple of months along, and the press goes wild, saying that she's a mistress, that she's a surrogate, that she's a wild thing off the streets like that last kid the Waynes had. Stephanie thinks it's very, very funny and cuts the articles out and tapes them to the inside of Bruce's office door, and whenever he complains, she turns her nose up at him, like he's inconveniencing her, and not the other way around. 

She decides to have the baby, but give it up for adoption. Tim's there for her pretty much every step of the way, going with his friend to her lamaze classes and helping her with homework. It's a condition of theirs: Stephanie still has to pass her classes, or they're no longer letting her stay at the manor with them. It's a condition of Bruce's mostly, but only because he wants to see to it that she doesn't flunk out of high school just because of one bad decision. Clark is one hundred percent sure it's not going to happen, because he's not going to let her get kicked out anywhere.

Stephanie has her beautiful baby girl, and Clark can see that it takes a lot out of her to give her away, but she knows what she wants, and it isn't motherhood, right now. When they wheel the newborn out of the room, Stephanie cries, but they're all there to comfort her, even Bruce. She's not theirs, God knows she would protest profusely if someone said that, but Stephanie's under their protection, now. 

After her recovery, she moves in with Babs in a big, nice apartment in the central part of Gotham, and while Clark is sad to see her go, he knew she was comfortable now, would come back to them when she needed.

Spoiler gets to emerge again after about six months, and Bruce and his lawyers make sure her baby girl goes to a great family in a small town, far away from Gotham's madness. Tim watches Steph with a different sort of respect, looks at her a little like she’s hung the moon in the sky now. They're probably dating, but Clark doesn't really want to ruin their fun by asking, and he knows Bruce doesn't care. 

Though doesn't care is really the wrong wording. He just doesn't see what it has to do with him, especially if their kids' date-mates are superheroes, which already proves their character to him, in a sense. When it comes to partners, it's Clark who's more protective, which Lois finds absolutely hilarious. 

"Clark, honestly, they're kids, having fun. You had Lana when you were Tim's age, didn't you?" she said, waving with her wine glass. 

"What? No. How old do you think Tim is now, anyway?" he asked, sipping his own wine. Bruce has spoiled him. He can tell this is cheap wine, rather than the usual stuff they drink whenever they go out. It's fine. Just a little grosser than usual, and for none of the effects people usually drink it for.

Lois curled a strand of hair behind her ear, shrugging. "Teenage boy. That tells me all I need to know."

"I don't think you should generalize like that. All my kids have been different when they're teenagers," Clark protested.

"Dick was loud and rebellious, Jay was silent and fuming, and so far Tim's been annoyed and sassy. Dick had lots of girlfriends, Jase had none, and now Tim has one. I started dating Lana when I was sixteen. I mean, Tim's only fifteen. It's just much more serious than I would like for him, right now. He doesn't care about school enough as it is."

"What does Bruce say, then?" Lois asked. 

Clark rolled his eyes, sinking back into her couch more. It was creme-colored, and very soft. "Nothing, as usual. Thinks I shouldn't be reflecting so hard on it."

"I hate to say I agree with your husband, but I do," Lois said, tucking her feet up under her. 

"We're not married," Clark reminded her. 

She snorted. "Might as well be. Besides, if you're not married, how the hell is anyone else supposed to compare? Also, I better be your best man at the wedding. I know you might want to pick Diana, but consider that then Bruce has literally no one, and that would be sad. Don't make your husband look sad on your wedding day. That's really just depressing."

"He has someone. He could ask anyone from the league, or Dick," Clark protested. 

Lois snorted again. "But he wouldn't. That's my point. Diana would strong-arm herself into the position. She's got really strong arms, y'see."

"The wine is really getting to you, huh?" Clark smiled. 

"I didn't have dinner," she confessed. Clark gasped. 

"What? Lois! Let me make you something quick. Why didn't you tell me?" he grouched, getting up and moving towards her white, clean kitchen. "Besides. As much as I know Dick is sexually active, I've never had to deal with him telling me a girl he's dating is pregnant. Knock on wood. I just feel like they're rushing into a relationship because Steph spent a lot of time with us when she was pregnant and they hung out a lot. It was a vulnerable time for her, you know." 

Lois tapped her fingertips against the wood of her coffee table sweetly. "Oh no. Teenagers getting to know each other in ways that aren't carnal. How will the world manage?"

Clark sighed from where he was measuring pasta, his shoulders sagging. "Am I being weird about this?"

She hummed. "Not more than usual, no. I think you should be happy he's with someone who knows exactly what she doesn't want and therefore will be extra careful in the future."

"We're paying for her birth control. She better," Clark muttered. 

"So, back to more important topics. When are you going to tie the knot, you old-fashioned bastard?"

"We've been partners for over ten years, Lois. That's enough for me."

"Oh it can't be. I know you and your soft, romantic heart, Kansas. Don't try to fool me," she said, wagging a finger at him with the hand holding her wine glass.

"Are we projecting a bit, perhaps?" Clark asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Lois shrugged. "I'm... I'm seeing someone."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Very interesting. Is he not a looker? Is that why I haven't been introduced to him yet?" 

Lois hopped up from the couch to go smack him, her face rosy from the wine. "Clark Kent, you know full well I wouldn't date someone who wasn't a looker!"

Laughing as he dodged her swatting little hands, Clark enjoyed her bright, vivid company, the sunlight filtering through the window. It was a welcome respite from Gotham's gloom and darkness. Despite himself though, he was still thinking about when he'd go home, waking up to find his partner nestled up against him in the night. 

Guess those were the hazards of falling in love. No matter what, being with Bruce was his favorite place to be, out of all of them.

\---


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I probably wasn't posting for a while, but guess who got sick after first week of kickoff!!! This Gal!!!! I feel okay now but yeah... Getting tested tomorrow. Fingers crossed for me pls.  
> Seeing as I've written parts of this while sick, I'm sorry if it sucks. I'm... attempting my best.  
> Hope you enjoy! <3<3

After a long day of work, and having to beat Lex Luthor in his metal suit over half of Metropolis to stop him from lifting the whole city in the air and then clean up after, Clark returned home very late, and very exhausted. In the kitchen, he found a pot of soup standing out for him to reheat from Alfred, and freshly made bread under an embroidered kitchen towel in the bread basket. He downed it all without heating it up, wanting more than anything to crawl into bed with his partner. 

Lex had had kryptonite, of course, which was locked up in a lead box in Clark's fortress right now, and he'd feel much better if he could eat, drink, and sleep. He drank the half gallon of orange juice that was left like he was a teenage boy again, chugging it right out of the jug. He was too thirsty to care that Alfred would tut at him about it tomorrow. 

Exhausted, he dragged himself into the cave, to the decontamination showers, because if he was still feeling sucky, there was probably some of the green dust still on him. He'd taken a trip into the sunlight on his way to his Fortress of Solitude, but it probably hadn't been enough. He'd fly up tomorrow instead. Clark went through the decontamination program on the showers on auto-pilot and flew half a foot off the floor all the way to his and Bruce's bedroom, finding a Bruce-shaped lump under the covers. Ace was curled up on the dog bed by the foot of their bed, and when she lifted her head, Clark scratched behind her ears until she settled down again. 

"Are you awake?" Clark whispered into the darkness. 

Bruce hummed, turning over on his back. "Mostly. How did the Luthor thing go?"

"Lex is safely in custody," Clark said, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up a little as he stood back up from his crouch. Now that he felt a bit better, he could feel a sense of forboding in the back of his head, something niggling at him, but he ignored it for the moment. He had on occasion had the same forboding feeling when there had been nothing to worry about, and it was probably the same thing now. It came with the job, to be a little anxious. "How did Tim do tonight?"

"He did fine. We discovered some trace evidence for that Maroni case, and spent the last hour before bedtime just doing some chemical analysis, which was productive. Took down some muggers," Bruce mumbled from bed, a hand covering his eyes.

Clark sank into the sheets gratefully, taking a deep breath and releasing it. "That's good. I'm glad you're getting on okay."

"Hmm," Bruce agreed, turning on his side and sliding closer. Clark recieved a loving kiss on the lips, and melted further into the bed, feeling much better all of a sudden.

"So, nothing big going on then?" he asked, wrapping his arm around Bruce and pulling him close.

"No. Why? What's wrong?" Bruce asked, that laser sharp look on him all of a sudden, like a honing beacon. 

"Nothing, I-"

" _Clark_." As much as Bruce had been dozing before, he was now fully awake, and Clark winced, shaking his head. 

"Sorry. It's probably nothing. I- It's just something Lex said. I don't... I don't know. Like he had something else going on."

Bruce pursed his lips. "What do you mean, something else going on?"

Clark shrugged helplessly, but when Bruce's fingers slid into the damp hair at the back of his neck, he relaxed into his partner's strong, safe grip, eyelids fluttering. "I don't know. He's just usually so much more pissed off when I destroy his schemes. It was almost like he had something else up his sleeve but didn't use it. Just... Didn't feel right. It's probably nothing." 

Bruce cocked his head, looking for all the world like he was casually contemplating Clark saying he was getting the heebie jeebies, but then he nodded. "Okay. I'll have Tim look into it."

"It's probably nothing," Clark protested. 

Bruce hummed, sinking back down into the covers next to him. "Okay. Then it'll be good practice for Tim. I trust your instincts, though. If something's wrong, something is wrong." 

For one moment, Clark was filled with an unspeakable amount of emotion for Bruce, for noticing his unease, for taking care of it. It must've been reflected in his eyes, because Bruce twined their fingers together, pressed a kiss to Clark's cheek and one to his mouth, tentative fingers of his other hand sliding up Clark's side. "How tired are you?"

Clark considered it, feeling the various aches in his body. "Too tired. Sorry. I just really, really love you."

Bruce chuckled, the dark one that never failed to send shivers up Clark's spine. "It's alright. I love you too." It always seemed to come easier when it was just the two of them, wrapped around each other in the dark. 

"Maybe don't tell Tim if he has a big workload right now," Clark hedged. "I'm not sure-"

Bruce huffed, using their linked hands to maneuver himself into the little spoon position. "Shut up, Clark. Go to sleep."

Clark muffled his laughter into the soft skin at the nape of Bruce's neck. "Yes, Batman. Sorry Batman."

Bruce grumbled, and pressed his very cold feet against Clark's thighs very deliberately. It was nights like these, cradling the love of his life, that Clark couldn't even grasp how lucky he was.

\---

His horrible feeling is right. 

In the end, it's Tim and Bart that find the clone deep in the underground levels of the Cadmus lab, unlock his pod, and drag him out into the world. When Clark, Bruce and Dick catch up, Tim's already supporting the boy's weight, helping him take his first steps on solid ground.

Kryptonian blue met Kryptonian blue, and both of them gaped at each other. Clark dropped like a rock to the ground, making the floor shake beneath them. Bart looked up at the ceiling like it might cave in on them, which was fair, but Clark couldn't exactly help himself at the moment. 

"So we found something pretty important," Tim said, slowly sliding out from under the boy's arm. "Or at least it seems like we might have."

"I'd say so. That's a dead ringer of you, Supes," Dick said, but his unnatural stillness spoke volumes of how uncomfortable he was. 

"I'm very alive, I'll have you know," the boy announced. His voice was eerily familiar, if a little softer than his own, and Clark couldn't get his brain to reboot or join the conversation, even if this was something that was pretty vital for him to participate in. Bruce, too, seemed stunned, even if you'd never know that this wasn't exactly what they had been expecting, from the way Robin was handling it.

"It's an expression," Tim said, sizing him up. "He can't have been alive as long as his body indicates. Otherwise our timeline doesn't add up."

"Yes," Batman said, shaking his cape back over his shoulders. "What, then? Except for the obvious cloning."

"How'd they manage to pull that off, anyway?" Tim asked. "Kryptonian DNA is all... Wonky, right?"

"Dude, are you okay? You look like you're gonna yak," Bart said, patting the clone on a strong bicep. His white suit was soaked through with whatever liquid they'd kept him in, revealing a very fit physique. 

"I frigging might be," he responded, wiping his face with shaky hands. 

"Bend your knees. Stick your head between them," Bart suggested, moving into the same position to demonstrate.

When the boy just stared, Tim's eyes narrowed at him. "So advanced aging and cloning? Is the process halted without the tube?"

"We'll need a cell sample. And a sample of the liquid," Batman said, pulling a little vial out of his belt and handing it to Dick. "I'm going to look at the research. Kal?"

Clark was still just staring, a little too dazed to grasp what was going on. At least until he heard Bruce's voice. "Um. Yeah?"

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked, his voice momentarily gentler. 

"I- yeah. Sorry. Just a little baffled, I guess," he said, shaking his head. "Why is it always us that get the crazy stuff? This doesn't happen to Wonder Woman."

Bruce's usually so blank face tugged into a little smile. "Don't let her hear you complain. It'll jinx her, too."

"Dude, seriously. Put your head between your knees. If you puke on me, I'm gonna be mad," Bart declared, putting his hands on his hips. When the clone still didn't move, Tim gently grabbed the back of his head and pushed it down. 

"Hold there, please," he said, keeping his hand there while he checked his computer on his other wrist. "B, they've discovered the looping. We should get out of here." 

"One moment," Bruce said, nudging Dick towards the unlocked pod and sweeping over to a computer panel right by the clone's pod. "Superman, start considering a new exit."

That Clark could do. Bruce's Batman voice demanded just enough to override his shock. He scanned their surroundings, and when Tim nodded at him, went over to a piece of wall that he could break through. Usin his x-ray vision, he found a place undisturbed by beams, and focused on breaking through that to the outside. 

"They're coming down the elevators," Tim said sharply, and Bart zipped over to Clark, helping him remove debris as he dug upwards, pulling steel and lead lining out of the way. 

The moment all of them could fit in Clark's tunnel, he whistled. Dick came hopping, with Tim and the clone not far behind. "B?" Clark called, looking around for his partner. 

"Go, Superman. I'll catch up in a moment," Bruce said, obviously occupied with whatever the computers were telling him.

On one hand, Clark wanted to grab him and haul his butt out of there, but on the other hand, many years of experience with Bruce made sure Clark knew that Bruce rarely overestimated his own power to do things on time. 

"Alright. If you don't make it out of here on time, Penny-One's gonna be mad," Clark threatened, and disappeared to the top again before Bruce could shoot him a death glare. What? Just because he knew that Bruce was _capable_ didn't mean he didn't worry. Never hurt to put the fear of Alfred in him.

He quickly managed to take them to the surface, sadly making them appear just in front of the Cadmus fence, but still inside of it. Dick hopped over without issue, and so did Bart. Clark held out a hand for Tim to step on, and when the clone just stood there, obviously concentrating on something, Clark just grabbed him and hoisted him over the fence, hissing at them to go. 

When Bruce appeared a minute later, Clark exhaled and flew over the fence as Bruce swung over it, hurrying after the kids to meet up by the batmobile, parked a block away. 

"Please? We'll get there faster," Clark said, doing a little spin in the air where he was flying next to Bruce. 

"You need to learn patience," Bruce admonished, swatting his hand away when he tried to reach for him. 

They arrived, finding the cluster of teenagers chatting between themselves while Dick looked on. 

"I've been growing in a lab?!" the boy exclaimed just as they dropped in. 

"I mean... Yes?" Tim said, head tilted.

"Like, in a frigging petri-dish? That's crazy," he said. 

"Not even half as crazy as some of the stuff we've seen," Bart said, shaking his head. "There's this guy called Beast Boy who can turn into pretty much any animal he wants to, and he was telling me about this endangered species-"

"Okay!" Dick interrupted, holding up the vial of liquid and tossing it to Bruce. "This is what I got, but I have a feeling we could just wring the little super kid's outfit out and get way more."

"Hmm," Bruce agreed. 

"So why do people say I look just like you, if I'm grown in a lab? Are you also grown in a lab?" the kid demanded, pointing at Clark. 

"Well, no. You probably look like me because you're a Kryptonian. Like me," Clark offered, with an awkward little wave of his hand.

"Oh. That's pretty cool," the kid offered, just as awkward. 

"Oh for crying out loud," Dick muttered under his breath. "Hey, Supes, why don't you tell him _why_ that's important?"

"I'm the last of my race. My planet was blown up, and I was flown here to Earth as a baby as a last survivor. You being here... That makes us two."

"Oh," he said, eyes a little wider. "We're the last people of your race? That's pretty intense."

"It's why I'm extra happy to see you," Clark grinned. He recieved just as big of a smile back, and could no longer restrain himself from giving the boy a hug. 

"Awe, new baby!" Dick cooed. Tim fist-pumped underneath his cape, where no-one could see his uncharacteristic little burst of joy at no longer being considered the baby in Dick's eyes. Bruce watched as the boy hugged Clark back with a stunned look on his cloned face. 

Yes, new baby indeed. To him, it's clear who the boy's gene donors are the moment he looks at him, but Clark doesn't actually connect the dots until he's shown the DNA-results later in the cave, where Tim's teaching the clone rock-paper-scissors while Bart gives unhelpful tips, and Dick watches with hearts in his eyes. 

While he's only seen Clark vomit once in their many years together, it almost seems like this is going to be the second time. So while Clark takes the rest of the evening off, flying up to his Fortress to think and process, Bruce sits down at the dinner table with Dick, Bart, Tim and the clone, and observes the way Tim watches the boy with curious eyes. 

\---

One thing is for sure: Clark Kent cannot appear with a random child who looks exactly like him. There's no way to explain this to civilians. Yes, the reporters have always joked about how alike Bruce and Clark's kids are, but they're plausibly similar. Conner is literally a clone of Clark, and he looks sixteen. Anybody who's ever known Clark know that he can't have had a sixteen-year-old kid. 

The solution is simple, according to Bruce, but it takes him hours to convince Clark, and then an extra ten minutes to convince Tim, who has grown fiercely protective of the clone since he came into their lives two days ago. Who knows how to raise superboys better than Martha and Jon Kent? 

It's only once Conner Kent, declared a distant cousin of Clark Kent, now also known as Kon-El, has been settled in at the Kent farm, that Bruce lets the anger out. He beats a punching dummy up so bad his knuckles bruise, crack and bleed.

"Shall I keep the rest of the family waiting for tea while you finish your temper tantrum, Sir?" came Alfred's voice. Bruce looked out of the corner of his eye at his perfectly prim and proper butler, raising a disapproving eyebrow, and proceeded to hit the dummy harder. "I will take that as a no."

Alfred disappeared again. Bruce lost himself in the fight, letting his mind go blank as he ran through his most brutal moves, just to feel some catharsis. The jarring of his bones, the strength of his punches were all familiar sensations, grounding him in the face of his anger. 

He stood there for quite some time. It could've been hours, days for all he knew. He'd submerged himself, was in a different zone alltogether. It's why the interruption was so strange, off beat.

"That's quite enough now, Sir," Alfred said, grabbing Bruce's shoulder. When he swung around, ready to punch, Alfred stood fast, like always, waiting for him to come back to himself. "There there. Take some water. If you haven't managed to dehydrate yourself by now, I'll be baffled." 

He was pulled over to a chair, and only when he sank down in it did he realize his arms were shaking with exhaustion. The first water bottle Alfred gave him ended up half on his already soaked shirt, but the second one he crumpled up in a second. While Alfred brought out the first aid kit to wash his injuries, Bruce tilted his head back to look up at the bats, contemplating. 

"You know what the worst thing is? I'm not mad at Clark for wanting him to stay with us," Bruce murmured. "I'm mad that Lex gave him something I couldn't."

Alfred paused, and brushed back Bruce's sweat-slick hair more tenderly than usual. "Oh, dear lad. Count your lucky stars that Master Clark has a soft spot for fools. All Lex Luthor has managed to give Master Clark is another responsibility and another secret to keep. It's not Master Clark and Lex Luthor who are going to raise him."

"It's not us, either," Bruce mumbled bitterly. 

"You saw to that," Alfred pointed out as he began placing butterfly strips on some of the deeper gashes, bending his digits gently to examine if they were sprained. 

"You know I had to. We would've had to keep him secret otherwise. He wouldn't have reacted well to it, if he's anything like Clark."

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to find out, won't we, Master Bruce? The boy's young. He'll need help becoming his own person, but he'll also need to be taught control and poise. If Master Clark is too busy seeing to his social needs to train him, you know where to start. He will be as much your child, as the two of you can make him."

Bruce considered that. "I'm being very silly about this, aren't I?"

Alfred smiled, patting his bandaged hand. "You said it, Sir, not me."

\---

Kon is much like Clark remembers being as a teenager: goofy, a little too brave, and very rash. Which is all fine and dandy for someone who knows their limits, who knows their strength, but Kon has no life experience to back him up. So far he hasn't made any too crazy blunders, but only because he doesn't want to hurt Ma and Pa. 

To remedy this gap in his knowledge, Tim and Bart take him on trips all the time, just for him to see the world a little more, outside of Smallville. It's how they form Young Justice, and it's reassuring for him to know that Kon won't be all alone, at least, that Tim reaches out to him. It's hard enough to make friends without having to hide half your identity. He's very happy that their two boys have found each other. 

Clark and Conner meet up often too, eating at a bunch of restaurants around the world to see where their tastes overlap. A particularly divisive taste is cilantro, which Clark loves, and Kon hates with a fiery, soapy-tasting passion. It sparks a heated debate which Tim settles with a simple genetics speech. 

"Clark isn't human, so he doesn't have the genes required to have the one that makes cilantro taste like a mouthful of soap," he explained patiently. "However, Conner has both Kryptonian and human genes stabilizing that DNA, which means he's inherited the trait."

"So now you know what to fight Lex Luthor with next time. Cilantro," Kon joked, making Clark chuckle and shake his head. He was turned away from his partner, so he couldn't see the minute twitch in Bruce's jaw, but Tim's attentive eyes noticed. 

Kon's powers are out of control though, which bothers Bruce because they're sending Tim out with him. Despite Clark technically being Kon's father, the fact that he doesn't live with them make it feel like he's more of a close relative than a son. Of course they want both of them to be happy and safe, but a Superboy on a rampage is not something they want to put Tim in front of, not now, not ever. 

Despite that, it seems like it's always Tim that talks him down from losing control of a new power, and he'll mention it in passing later, as if that will bring Bruce's blood pressure down, instead of through the goddamn roof. Because of this tendency, nowadays whenever Tim has training in the cave, so does Clark and Kon.

Clark tries to teach him how his powers work, but it's mostly instinctual for him at this point, so Bruce just uses him for demonstrations, and shoos Clark away when he starts attempting to help. 

Of course, in true impatient Superboy fashion, Conner isn't a fan of Bruce's teaching techniques. At one of their weekly workouts, Bruce showed him an exercise, and then disappeared to one of the lower platforms to sparr with Tim, who was doing warmups. 

Clark, who was reading Bruce's notes on Cadmus on the batcomputer, heard Kon muttering unsavory things under his breath, coming closer to him. 

"Hey Clark, why do you hang out here so much? It's pretty boring, and Batman seems like such a jerk," Kon muttered, kicking a short stalagmite next to the computer and managing to break it off. Both of them stared at the rock, and he shifted it back to where it was with a toe.

Clark gaped, rewinding his words. "I- Uh, I'm- we're dating." Weird way to word the fact that they'd raised two kids together and essentially Tim, but what else could he say? It was baffling that Kon hadn't picked up on that, but Bruce in Batman-mode was generally less inclined to show affection, he supposed.

Kon's eyebrows shot up. "No kidding. _Batman_?" He made a considering face. "Alright, I can respect that. I guess opposites really do attract." Something seemed to hit him. "Oh my _god_ , am I gay too?"

Clark flushed. "I'm- I'm bisexual. Not gay. And, I mean, I don't know, exactly. In that you're not my exact clone. And I'm not entirely sure how much of sexuality is ruled by genetics."

"Tim probably knows," Kon said with a shrug, jogging back to the outcrop where he'd be able to see down. Clark hurriedly followed. "That bastard knows too much. Tim! Am I gay?"

On the lower platform, Tim froze for a second too long in shock, a grave mistake. Bruce flipped him onto the mat and pinned him, turning his own attention towards the two of them. "Why aren't you training?"

"Why the hell would you ask _me_ that?" Tim asked very loudly as he tapped out, and rolled out from under Bruce. "How am I supposed to know how you feel?"

"You know a bunch of stuff, dude! How am I supposed to know what you don't know! Clark's dating _Batman_ , and you didn't think to tell me!"

Bruce blinked, raising an eyebrow at Clark. "Dating?"

Clark held his hands up. "I was baffled that he didn't know. I just- I don't know."

"They live together!" Tim exclaimed. 

"Bros live together!" 

" _Bros_ ," Bruce said, like he was testing the word out on his tongue. "Yes, Clark, are we...bros?"

Clark snorted loudly. "I don't think we can claim no homo, at this point."

That made Bruce smile with teeth, shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. Too bad."

"Oh it's too bad, he says? That's funny, coming from you," Clark countered, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling down at his partner. 

"Please," Tim said, rolling his eyes. "Kon, bros don't do that. Okay? That is not bro-behavior."

" _Bro-behavior_ ," Bruce repeated, again, shaking his head at the kids these days. "Christ. Conner, Clark and I are married in every way except in the eyes of the law, and that's only because it's not legal."

"Dang," Kon said, eyes wide. "That's a lot of ways."

"Gross," Tim said, moving towards Bruce with intent. "You're like my parents. Innuendo is not something I want to hear from you."

Bruce caught him under his arm before Tim could tackle him, holding him in a half-wrestling grip, half-hug. "Who said my intention was innuendo?"

Clark smiled from the top platform, warmed by Tim calling them his parents. "Really, Tim. I can't believe you'd think that of us."

"Oh my god," Tim sighed. "I'm done with this. Kon, c'mon, we'll call Bart and get ice cream."

Bruce released him, and shook his head. "Kon's not done with today's training. He's not going anywhere."

"He needs to recharge," Tim said, clearly lying his little butt off. "He needs sunlight."

"Yeah," Kon latched on, relaxing his posture like he was exhausted all of a sudden. "I'm feeling pretty drained, actually." He fake-yawned, stretching his arms over his head.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at them, but then gripped the bridge of his nose, attempting to pinch his frustration away obviously. "Fine. But you go to an unpopulated large grassy area and do the exercises I told you _today_ , or there will be consequences."

"Got it! Wait, does that make you my step dad? If you're dating Clark?" Kon asked, as Tim hurried up the stairs to go change in the locker rooms before Bruce changed his mind. 

Bruce blinked. "It makes me whatever you want to call me."

"Oh. Fair. I guess my familial relations are wonky, along with my DNA," Kon said, a resigned little smile on his face. It broke Clark's heart a little, and he grasped Kon's shoulder. 

"You're part of this family no matter what, Kon. You bear my sigil, you have your brothers, you have us... Can't escape any of that," Clark hurried to soothe. "Even if we can't have you with us all the time, we still love and appreciate you."

Kon's cheekbones turned rosy. "Uh. Thanks, Clark. I appreciate that. Guess I'm not gonna call Lex daddy anytime soon, anyway."

Clark felt a bit of his soul leave his body at the statement, and saw Bruce blinking in stunned silence down on the platform. Tim, who was half-way out of his work-out shirt, got tangled up in it and nearly tripped. "Oh my god, Kon!"

"What?" he asked incredulously. 

"I'll explain on the way. Can we please get out of here? You're making my ears bleed," Tim complained, running towards the locker rooms. 

"What? What is _with_ you today?" Kon asked, flying after him into the locker rooms. 

Clark burst out into unprompted laughter, shaking his head. "Teenage boys, huh?"

Bruce shook his head, making his way up the staircase too. "Why do we have so many of them?"

"They keep dropping in on our doorstep. You're the one who keeps giving them a place to stay," Clark teased, going back to the computer and sitting down. 

"Yes. I'm such an awful person," Bruce said in a deadpan, coming up behind Clark's chair and resting his elbow on the back of it. "Did you notice anything weird about the Cadmus notes?"

"Stop it, you aren't. Should I have noticed anything?"

Bruce shrugged. "I was wondering if you saw something I missed."

Clark pressed his lips together as he ran through the information he'd read. "Don't think so. It's mostly a bunch of biological mumbo jumbo about how unstable kryptonian DNA is."

"It is weird," Bruce agreed. "Very weird. Your nucleotides are very strange-looking."

"Of course you've seen my DNA," Clark chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Should I be worried about my wonky DNA?"

"Well, you'd probably be unable to concieve biological children without intervention, but seems as if that's no longer an issue," Bruce said, running a hand through Clark's hair. 

Clark leaned into it, looking up into the ceiling with a dazzled look on his face. "It's crazy, isn't it? He's so much like me, but his powers are different. Tim suspects he has some sort of force field surrounding him. That's never been one of my powers."

Bruce hummed. "He's been tampered with. Why would he have the exakt same powers as you do?"

"But you're training him as if he does?"

"I have to start somewhere. If he has a force field like Tim suspects, then he can learn to manipulate it. It's easier to tick off what powers of yours he does have and start with them, since we know how those work."

Clark sighed. " _You_ know how they work. I seem to be useless at teaching him." 

"I know how to teach teenagers," Bruce corrected with a smirk, scritching his short nails against Clark's scalp. "Also, I've studied you extensively, Kal-El. I've seen all your moves. Trust me when I say I could write a whole library's worth of books just about you."

Love and warmth bubbled in Clark's stomach, and he turned his head to meet his lover's eyes, enjoying the reciprocal feelings in them. He took Bruce's free hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, and placed it on his heart. "You always get me with your sap. _Bro_."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Shut up. _Bro_."

When Clark burst out laughing again, Bruce dipped down to kiss Clark's happy, luscious lips, chasing the same joy. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if you don't like my Kon... I've only ever encountered him in the YJ cartoon and one Red Robin comic so I'm not super sure where I want to take his character from here? We'll see!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in a zone this weekend with writing which has been nice!  
> Thank you for all your supportive, cool comments!! you make writing fanfiction such a fun experience. I love you all!!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

It was just a regular evening, for the rest of the world. For the Waynes, it was a day of mourning. Jason's nineteenth birthday was today. Dick had taken off last week, couldn’t look Bruce in his dead eyes again until this day had passed, and Tim was walking on eggshells around his guardians, well aware of the date but without having the same grief. Clark hated that they'd done that, but he was also consumed by the hole in his chest, couldn’t focus on work, couldn’t focus on anything than the sound of his favorite heartbeats in the world, beating steadily. 

Expanding his hearing for the third time in an hour, he listened for the most important heartbeats to him right now, his family: his partner and his boys, his Ma and Pa. 

Bruce was staring out the window, his elbow on the armrest of his chair, his chin in his hand. It was raining, as it was wont to do in Gotham, and Clark was sitting in the comfy chair next to him with a book open in his lap but not reading. It was just something about this day, like it was haunted. They could never be happy on this day, not even so many years later. The grief was always much more palpable, whether it was because of Bruce's mood, or the shift in the air, or just the fact that Alfred stopped smiling as much. The day was like a change of season overnight, in the Wayne household.

Again, Clark circled through the heartbeats he recognized and wanted to check up on today. He searched the house, found Ace's steady heart and Alfred admonishing her for stealing a piece of meat that he'd managed to drop on the floor. He heard Tim's heartbeat down in the cave, always a little faster than it should be, even at his age. It was the caffeine, always that damn caffeine. 

He expanded his hearing, sweeping out over Gotham towards Bludhaven where he knew he'd find his oldest, and instead stumbled upon something else familiar. 

Clark stood up, fast enough to throw the book to the floor and move the chair. Bruce looked up, raising an eyebrow at him, but Clark wasn't paying attention, was focusing as hard as he could as he listened to a hauntingly familiar _ba-dum ba-dum._

" _Jason_ ," he gasped, taking off and spinning into his suit as he took to the Gotham sky. He rose high enough that he could look down on most of it, and narrowed his focus, trying to hone in on that sweet sound. 

The abandoned building was in the shoddier part of Gotham, near Crime Alley, and Clark moved towards it with speed and purpose. There was a french balcony door cracked open on the top floor, and he followed the comforting noise inside. 

The door opened into a bare and dirty room, with a mattress on the floor and a laptop charging in a corner. Several weapons were also lying on the ratty couch, and all the way to the left, there was a large part of the floor that was caved in, dropping down into the floor below. 

Clark stood frozen, looking around at the belt of knives hung over the back of the couch, the leather jacket tossed on the bed, the pillow-shaped lump underneath the covers.

The door right across from the one he'd stepped into opened, and Clark couldn't believe his own eyes. "Oh my god. Jason," he whispered.

"Clark?" Jason asked, absolutely wide-eyed, caught off guard. Before Clark could say anything else, his so sweet face twisted into an ugly grimace of rage. "Fuck. I can't believe I forgot the silencer. _Fuck_. Shit. Where's Batman?" he asked, his voice laced with venom. 

"Jason-" Clark gasped, sounding absolutely broken-hearted even to his own ears.

It _was_ Jason, though if Clark hadn't heard the heartbeat to back it up, he might not have believed it. He'd had a growth spurt, standing at six-two now, and his shoulders were broad. He looked like a powerhouse, not like a scrappy, pissed off fifteen-year-old, and Clark could barely believe his eyes. His face was all sharp angles, no baby fat left, and his eyes were sunken in his face with big purple bruises under them, like he hadn't slept for ages. In the usual teal color swirled more green than Clark could recall ever seeing before, and his glare was so biting, it actually felt like it could've hurt Clark. His before so fluffy hair was cropped close to his head, with a splotch of white at his one temple. 

"Fuck. I had plans. I can't believe I- Fuck!" Jason shouted, scrambling towards a literal hole in the wall and pulling a gun out from there. 

"Why do you have a gun?" Clark asked, entirely dumbfounded. Jason's glare was back on him, and this time there was a mocking twist to his face, the crinkles by his eyes frown lines. 

"Yes, Clark, why do I have a gun?" he asked sarcastically. "I've been a busy boy these past few years."

"You know how to defend yourself without a gun," Clark pointed out, uselessly.

"Yes. What other use for a gun could I possibly have?" Jason asked, loading a bullet into the chamber and aiming for Clark. 

There was a soft click, and Jason's gun swung over towards the window. Gracefully, Bruce slid inside, his heart beating loud and fast in his sturdy ribcage.

"Jason," he said, his voice shaky. "You're alive."

"Yeah..." Jason said, his eyes wider, almost fanatic as he stared at Bruce. "Yeah, old man. I am. Better condition than you left me in, I'd say."

"I don't know if I agree," Bruce said, eyeing the weapon in his hands. "Put the gun away, it's just me."

"Yeah. It's _you_. My compliant, dipshit parents who left me to bleed under rubble and who didn't even have the decency to enact revenge for me."

Clark was floored, and even Bruce's jaw dropped a little at his sharp words. What should've been a loving reunion was suddenly in shambles like a cracked mirror. Jason almost looked feverish in the dim lighting, wearing only a tanktop and dark sweats. 

"Enact revenge?" Bruce asked, shaking his head as if to clear it. 

"Kill the Joker. The bastard clown that took my fucking life. Ring a goddamn bell, Batman?" Jason hissed. "If you loved me as much as you said, why didn't you fucking kill him? You didn't give a shit about me. I was a project for you, just like the way you treat all people that don't mean anything to you. You're a manipulative, shitty bastard and if you step any closer, I'll blow your head off!" 

"What are you talking about? I don't kill," Bruce said, holding his hands up. "Jason. Of course we love you. How can you even say that?"

"Because you left me to die! To rot! And the Joker is still around, fucking up new people's lives left and right! I thought... I thought I'd be the last one you'd let him hurt, but not even my death was enough. I meant nothing to you." The way his voice wavered exposed his hurt like a soft underbelly, and he shook his head, clenching his grip around the gun tighter. 

"You have no idea, Jason!" Clark exploded in a breath, surprising everyone in the room, including himself. At least it got all the attention on him. "You have no idea the kind of wreckage you left behind.”

"Oh boo-hoo," Jason said, his voice shaking with rage this time, eyes flickering only once over to Clark. "My murderer was still running around in the world. No matter how much you claim you loved me, it wasn't enough to kill him."

"Bruce beat him to a bloody pulp! I had to stop him! I couldn't believe that my own child would want to have someone murdered!"

"For _revenge_! Revenge for taking my life!" Jason shouted, finally swinging towards Clark. 

"Maybe we didn't want revenge, we just wanted you back!" Clark yelled, his voice breaking as he watched the young man he barely recognized tear at his short hair.

"You don't get it," Jason laughed, but it was nothing like the sunny laugh from the freckled boy Clark was used to hearing. It was hollow, bitter, way too old for a nineteen-year-old. "You still don't get it! You're all bullshit naivite, sunshine and puppies in the face of Gotham's gruesome. You don't fucking fit in here. You never did. You being such a goody-two-shoes was what got me killed!"

Clark sucked in a sharp breath, like the words were a physical blow.

"Don't talk to your pop that way," Bruce snarled. "That's not your place."

"Not my place? I was beaten to death and my super-parent didn't give a shit! He's _not_ my pop. He wasn't there to save me! Didn't care, didn't give a fucking shit. And _you_ , you can't tell me how to talk to anyone!"

Jason's gun, which had faltered during his rant, raised steadily, aiming for Clark, and he pulled a new mag out of his pocket, this one marked 'green K' on a piece of tape. 

"Jason," Clark gasped, feeling the grief claw its way back up his throat, scratching it up with a vengeance. "Please. I didn't know. I've been beating myself up for it ever since you left us. I didn't know, I wasn't paying attention. I should have. I'm so sorry, baby boy."

Jason shook his head, blinking hard. "Fuck. You're too goddamn little too late, Clark. It wasn't supposed to go like this. It wasn't supposed to be you."

Clark could see the gears working behind Jason's eyes, could see the moment he decided to pull the trigger. 

"No!" Bruce shouted, knocking the gun straight out of Jason's hands. The bullet whizzed by Clark's ear, and in a second Jason did a roundhouse kick, getting Bruce hard in the ribs as he dashed over to the hole in the floor and dropped down. There was a click and a buzzing sound in Clark's ears, and when he went to search for any other heartbeats in the vicinity, all he could hear was Bruce's staccato rhythm. 

"B?" Clark asked softly, sinking down on shaky knees. "Who the hell was that, and what did he do to our kid?"

Bruce shook his head, pulling out a plastic bag to put the gun in. "I... I don't know, Kal." They met eyes, and Clark saw the tremble in Bruce's jaw. "I don't know at all."

\---

When the abandoned house is blown up an hour later and the Red Hood emerges a week after that, Bruce comes home, throws his gauntlets across the cave, and almost slams his hands down on the computer panel before Clark manages to stop him.

The fingerprints on the gun really tell them all they need to know. They belong to Jason Peter Todd-Wayne. The kryptonite bullets are homemade, even though they have no clue where he got the green K from. It's a shock to have to tell Dick and Alfred who they saw, but it's a necessary evil. 

"No," Dick said over the phone. "You're joking."

"Honey. Would we?" Clark asked, closing his eyes at Dick's shellshocked tone. 

"I guess you wouldn't. I don't- Why would he try to shoot you?"

"He's upset. Just know that the Red Hood is him. Don't hurt your brother if you see him around Gotham, okay?" Clark said. 

Dick made an enraged little sound on the other end of the line. "He tried to _shoot_ you!"

"Dick."

"How dare he? If I see him, I'm gonna kick Little Wing's ass."

"Language! And that's exactly why I called you: to stop that right in its tracks. Jason's obviously been through some traumatic things. I honestly don't know how we're going to handle this, but it's definitely _not_ going to be 'kick first ask later'. Am I making myself clear?"

Dick grumbled. "Fine. How's B taking it?"

Clark considered that, tilting his head to listen to Bruce tell Alfred in low tones about their encounter. The stunned silence spoke louder than anything Alfred could've shouted. "About as well as is expected." 

"So, like a trainwreck," Dick sassed.

"Maybe a little worse," Clark agreed. 

"And how are you taking it, pop? I know losing Jason was a lot for you, too."

Clark was stunned, his throat raw at the genuine concern in Dick's voice. He could feel the words build up in his throat, scratching to be let free, but he shook his head at himself. Dick was not there for him to unload on, he was Clark's child. The boy had enough on his plate as it was. 

"Shocked, for sure. Don't worry about me. I just don't want you to drop into Gotham and try to strangle your brother."

"Okay. Please don't strangle B either. He's a jerk, but he's _your_ jerk."

Clark managed a weak smile. "Oh, don't worry. I know. I picked him before I even met you, y'know."

"Yeah, but I was the spicy bow on top that made you want him for real," Dick joked. "What would you do without me, pop?"

"Be very, very lonely in our big, dark house, sunshine boy," Clark teased back.

"Yeah," Dick said, his voice softer now. "Hey, you want me to come back?"

"You're on a mission," Clark reminded him. "I think Bruce and I've got this. I know it's gonna bug you if you come home before the mission is done."

Dick sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Just wish I could be there with you guys."

"In spirit, definitely. Maybe call your dad too later today, to check in? Please?"

"Yeah, okay," Dick agreed. "Can't promise we're not gonna yell."

Clark rolled his eyes. His dramatic boys. "Have I ever made you promise that you're not going to yell?"

"Yes. I think I was eleven, it was a fundraiser or gala or something. I was _very_ tired," Dick said. Clark laughed, making Dick chuckle too. "Okay, pop, I've gotta go. I want updates, since I know B's not gonna send any, okay?"

"Yeah," Clark agreed, watched as Alfred walked into the sitting room with a tray with two mugs of tea and a plate of cookies. "Love you. Bye."

"Love you too!" There was a click as Dick hung up, and Clark hung up too, watching as Alfred carefully set out the cups and the plate of cookies, picking up the tea towel on the tray and draping it over his arm. 

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Clark?" Alfred asked, his face a perfectly butlery-blank. 

"Please take a seat. Please?" 

They met eyes, and Clark recognized the grief, felt it mirrored in his own expression. "I know we lecture Bruce a lot about slowing down, but maybe it's time we take our own advice."

Alfred stood stock-still for a moment more, before he placed the tray back on the coffee table and sank down into the stuffed chair opposite Clark. "I suppose you're right, Master Clark. This is a very topsy-turvey day, I'd say."

Clark picked up his tea mug and held it up. Alfred picked up the other one, and they clinked them together in a commiserative cheers. "Spot on as always, Alfred."

\---

The Red Hood gets bolder. He takes over almost a third of the drug trade in Gotham in a week, and starts a turf war with the Black Mask in one fell swoop. Bruce is visibly simmering in anger and regret, but Clark doesn't really know how to push him out of this particular tailspin. During their patrols, Tim and Bruce don't seem to run into him, so Clark can't even pump Tim for information about how they're dealing with Jason. It's all very frustrating, because he knows that if he tried to help them, Bruce would be even more mad. 

On an otherwise normal evening, where Clark had been waiting for his partner to come back while reviewing JL reports, he recieved a comm line from Tim marked as urgent. 

_We chased Red Hood over a couple of rooftops on patrol, and he said B didn't understand Gotham and was never going to, and B is pissed!!! Going to YJ for the evening, good luck_

_-R_

"Oh great," Clark said to himself, deleting the message. "At least he has some survival instincts."

Considering how to handle this, he tapped his fingers against the computer panel, contemplating how much of this report he could manage to review before Bruce came storming home. Not a lot, it was made apparent as the rumble of the Batmobile entered the cave system and became steadily louder. 

It skidded onto the platform, stopping about a foot past it's usual mark, and Batman strode out, too calmly. 

"Hey honey, how was patrol?" Clark hollered from the top level.

"Stop acting like I don't know Robin told you," Bruce snapped, still with the Batman voice scrambler on as he climbed the stairs. 

"Okay. Hey honey, how was patrol?" Clark asked, less loud now that Bruce was coming closer. 

"Fine," Bruce said sharply, pulling a USB out of a compartment in his belt and sticking it into the computer.

"Okay, since I know that's not true, I'm gonna need a different answer," Clark said, standing up from his chair. 

Bruce shook his head. "It was fine."

"So fine that Tim fled to young justice for the evening? Yeah, right."

"Fine. We took care of some assassins who were out for the Red Hood, and then chased after him until he lost us at the metro," Bruce reported, like this was a regular crook, and not their second son.

"Assassins?" Clark said, a little more shocked than he should be, probably. 

Bruce pulled his cowl down, but the same stern Batman-look was behind the mask as usual. "Yes. Because he's a drug lord and a murderer who's in a war with Black Mask. That gets assassins sent after you."

Despite Bruce being visibly on edge, Clark didn't want to tip toe around this, because it was obviously bothering them both. "Tim wrote in his reports that he's stopping weapons from hitting the market, and that he's undermining the drug trade where he's not in control. No dealing to kids either."

“What, do you agree with what he's doing?” Bruce snarled, eyes wild and raging. 

“Agree? No,” he snapped back, “no, I just think that you shouldn’t be so hard on him.”

“Hard on him? This isn’t him being a disobedient _child_ , Kal. He’s murdering people in my city.”

“Diana wields a sword. Hawkman a mace. Alfred has probably killed more people than Jason has, at this point. Yelling at Jason for asking for vengeance, when that’s your motto, isn’t going to get him to come crawling back. It’s…it’s not going to bring our kid back, Bruce.”

The Batman's shoulders slumped, and he braced himself against the computer panel, suddenly looking much younger and much more tired. Clark pressed his forehead to his partner’s shoulder blade, his hand coming up to wrap around Bruce’s waist. The hard ridges of the bat-suit dug into his palm, but Bruce curved into him, however slightly.

“God,” Bruce muttered, his voice entirely wrecked, “have you seen the hatred in his eyes when he looks at me?”

“He’s angry, baby, you know Jason always gets like that,” Clark murmured, and was suddenly thrown back five years in time, to Jason and Bruce snapping at each other and him coming in and giving Bruce a sharp look, or telling Jason to back off. Despite the happy years of Jason’s childhood, there were angry moments, too; Jason and Bruce’s tempers and traumas clashing like someone swinging a baseball bat into an orchestra’s percussion section. "Give him some time to cool down."

"Cool down?" Bruce snorted, straightening out of Clark's gentle hold. "That's where we failed last time. Whenever he gets space, he starts to think too hard. He makes stupid decisions and we shouldn't have let it go as far as it did. No, we need to be more aggressive in our approach."

"Aggressive?" Clark asked, absolutely baffled. "Just like you said, he's not an unruly teenager anymore. What are you going to do, go around hitting him until he sees the light? Treat him like any other crook?"

"No," Bruce said sharply. "Yes. I don't- He can't be allowed to go on like this, Clark. A life of crime isn't exactly what I had in mind for him. I didn't think he had this in him."

Clark shook his head. "That's where you're wrong. You've known the whole time that he was angrier than you were about the state of Gotham. He was complaining about corrupt politicians, homelessness, the prison system in Gotham, and how crooks get off scot-free the whole time he lived with us. It was a theological discussion for you, but it was more real for him. He lived it, you didn't. Your privilige blinded you to his anger. You've been able to brush it off the whole time."

"I never brushed him off!" Bruce snarled. 

"Yes, you did! God, I don't want to fight right now-"

"No, let's!" Bruce turned around, staring Clark down with those blazing blue eyes. "Am I supposed to give him leniency because of his relation to me? Isn't that what all the rich bastards in power do? If their kids get into any trouble they bail them out? Am I really any better than them if I keep cutting Jason slack for his actual crimes?"

"I don't know! I don't. I just know that that's our kid, Bruce, and that he's obviously going through a rough time right now, and we should be giving him support and understanding instead of going after him _aggressively_ , whatever that even means!"

"It means we get him back by whatever means possible," Bruce said, his tone grim. 

A chill went down Clark's spine, and he swallowed hard. "Bruce," he said, his tone the calmest it's ever been, even though his stomach was roiling, his throat constricting. "You lay a hand on our kid and I'm _gone_."

Bruce reeled back like he'd been slapped in the face, blinking hard. In a second his walls went up to fast Clark could practically hear the _blam_ of Bruce's mental doors slamming in his face. The hard lines on his face solidified into a blank mask, and while Clark wanted to apologize, he wouldn't take his words back. No way would he let their terrified, damaged kid become even more traumatized by getting beaten up by his dad.

It was very clear that Bruce's brain was shifting into Batman mode, getting him away from this awful conversation. Clark wished he could do the same, and settled for pressing his hand to his eyes until he saw little lights dancing behind his eyelids. Bruce took a deep breath."We go to the source, then. He's had more training now, had money and weapons before he took over any Gotham crime imperium. From where?"

"I don't know," Clark said, crossing his arms to hide his shaking hands. God, he didn't want to leave Bruce. Leaving Bruce would ruin him, but he also couldn't even consider staying with someone who hit their kids. Sparring was one thing, but just the thought of Bruce punching Jason was too much for him, right now. He could only see the jarring differences between Jason at 15 and Jason at almost 20, could see that his baby had been through some tough crap.

"Who'd have a vested interest in Jason, in stirring up this anger in him? Who even knew who he was? We..." Bruce faltered, but shook his head, as if to dislodge the thought. "We buried him. I know that. I made sure of that. So who knows our identities, knows enough about Jason to know where he was buried, and..."

It came to Clark like someone flipping a switch in his brain, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out "That-that _witch_!"

Bruce hummed, but he seemed to know exactly who he was talking about. "You're being too polite, Clark. She's a downright bitch."

\---


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. This one's a wild ride. Please keep hands and feet inside the cart the whole ride. Fasten seatbelts, etc. Extra long chapter on accident because angst!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

They don't have time to go after her, because as if summoned, Talia drops in on them the moment they reach the study.

"Like fricking Beetlejuice," Clark murmured next to Bruce as they watched on his monitor when Talia and her ninjas stormed the backyard. Bruce fired off a message on the comms to Tim that he should stay with Young Justice all night tonight if he could, and not to worry about the intruder alarms as he and Clark were dealing with it. He also let Dick and Babs know that Talia was in town and to be attentive but not worried.

"Are you doing demon rituals without me, Clark? Bad idea," Bruce said in such a deadpan tone, Clark almost couldn't tell if he was joking or not. 

"We should rent that movie. I'm sure Tim and Kon would enjoy it," Clark suggested, listening to Talia whispering directions in Arabic to her ninjas. He interpreted it as them staying outside while she went inside, but to watch for her cues. "Maybe have a family movie-night this weekend?"

"How are you planning that now?" Bruce asked, marveling at Clark. 

"Family is important, and we're only waiting for Talia to make her appearance, aren't we? We have time," Clark protested. Bruce just stared at him, and Clark crossed his arms over his chest, staring back. "What? We do."

Bruce shook his head. "I know. You're right."

"Dang right I am," Clark huffed, as Bruce stood up from his chair, turning off his monitor. 

"We'll take Kon and Tim to Blockbuster, let them chose. We can get Beetlejuice for us," he suggested. "Date night?"

Pleasantly surprised, Clark raised an eyebrow. "We can't plan family time but we can plan date night?" He didn't remark on the fact that the last time they had date night was over two months ago, though he was pleased that Bruce was taking the initiative.

Bruce shrugged, eyes on the open doorway. "We have time."

Clark sort of doubted there would be any kind of date night anytime soon, at least until this whole mess with Jason was cleared up, but one could always dream. "She's in the red sitting room."

"Of course. Dramatic as always," Bruce sighed, leaning against the fire-place and rubbing at a temple. "We'll wait. If she came here, she'll have to find us."

Clark shrugged, and sat down in the cushy chair in front of Bruce's desk. It was their goddamn house. If she wanted to intrude, it was on their terms. 

"Knock knock," came Talia's melodious voice from the doorway. "I can see I'm expected."

"As much as unpleasant business is expected, I suppose," Bruce said, raising his head. Clark, too, stood up again. 

Talia was aesthetically gorgeous as always, wearing an expensive-looking beige leather jacket, dark jeans and a maroon blouse. Her hair was down to her shoulders, longer than the last time she'd dropped by. She still moved like her ego could fill the room, like she was best and knew it. It set Bruce's teeth on edge nowadays, while he'd admired her confidence in his youth. 

"You may be wondering why I'm here," Talia said, waving with one elegant hand to encompass the study.

"Actually, we have some questions for you," Clark interrupted. Talia blinked, clearly not used to being side-tracked. "Like for example what the hell you did to our son."

She pursed her plump lips, looking displeased. "Which of your runts are you referring to?"

"Jason," Bruce said, frowning back at her. "Of course. Don't play dumb, Talia. It's unbecoming of you."

She took a turn around the room, lingering by Bruce's desk to look at their family pictures. She traced a finger over Jason's face on one of them, almost reverently. Clark had to resist the urge to pull the frame away from her. Something about the way she looked at the pictures made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. 

"I thought I would have more time," Talia said, tapping her short nails against the desk as she looked off to the side. "I thought I could restore him and give him back to you, beloved. But that wasn't what he wanted, once he was back. So I helped him."

"There's a world of difference between returning a lost child to his parents and giving him resources to kill them," Clark said, astonished at her blasé attitude. 

Talia's dark eyes turned into daggers, glaring at him. "Who said anything about you?" she asked scathingly, and Clark took a deep breath to try and calm himself down. Trust Talia to question him, to try and anger him. Sometimes, when a jealous beast overtook him, Clark imagined wiping that pompous look off her face, just-

"Restore him?" Bruce asked, his tone sharp. "What do you mean, _restore_ him?"

"When I found him, he was merely a meat puppet. Kick him, he'd kick back. He lived like a rat on the Gotham streets, until I took him in. I gave him his life back, against my father's wishes. I risked everything for you and your Jason, beloved."

"Against your- what did you do to him?" Bruce demanded, eyes narrowing. 

She brushed her hair behind her shoulder, shrugging. "I revitalized him. He was brain-damaged. There wasn't a lot that could be done, so I did what I thought would help bring him back to himself." She traced a ring on Bruce's desk, the implications making Clark almost dumbstruck with rage.

"You threw him in the Lazarus Pit?" Clark asked, feeling his bones creak in his hands as he clenched them. "Are you _off your goddamn rocker_?"

"Is that the thanks I get?" Talia asked, clicking her tongue. "Your son is restored to you, at no cost for you."

"He hates us!" Clark exclaimed. 

She smirked. "Well. I didn't need to help him along to that conclusion. I just gave him the means and opportunities he needed to let out some of that anger. If it was directed at you, how was I supposed to do anything about it?"

"Oh, _shut up_." 

Both of their heads swiveled towards Bruce, who was leaning against the fireplace, squeezing at the pressure points between his eyebrows. 

"What?" Talia said dangerously.

Bruce looked up. "I said, shut. Up. This is not about you. Jason is back, and I'm done with tact for today. Get off my property. And take your godamn ninjas with you. I'm sick of seeing your face. Get out."

He pointed out the door like she was a scolded puppy, and Clark wondered if she was going to burst into flames, or kill Bruce right there and then. Instead, she took a deep breath, shook her head. 

"I'm not sorry, Bruce," she said, her voice quiet. "Al Ghuls do no wrong. And we don't apologize."

"I know," Bruce said. "I'm not asking for an apology. I just want you out of here, without having to ruin priceless furniture with our fight. Oh, and Talia? Cut him off. I don't care what reasons you had to give him that money in the first place, I just want you to cut him off. Your little arrangement is done."

"Whatever makes you think I'm going to take any orders from you?" Talia sneered. 

"I think I have about two weeks of vacation time. Right?" Clark asked, looking over at Bruce who raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Right."

Clark moved, faster than the eye could see, and slammed Talia up against the door. The knife she pulled on him didn't penetrate his side, only annoyed him. The bones of her wrist creaked in his grip, and Clark made sure they were eye-level, glaring into her defiant green eyes. 

"So. You cut him off, or I'll use those two weeks to tear down every single League base until your entire empire is rubble. I don't need to sleep, I don't need to eat. I can go all two weeks, no issue. I'll tear your cushy seat out from under you, brick by brick. That's my son that you twisted into an unrecognizable villain, you- you _bitch_. You're not a parent, so you don't understand the lengths I'll go to, to get Jason out from under your thumb, but let me tell you, it's pretty damn far." 

Talia's pulse had sped up a bit under his hand, but Clark was mad, was always mad that she was always, _always_ out there doing awful things with no goddamn reprecussions. 

"Control your brute, Bruce," Talia said in a silky voice, a strand of her hair falling over her eyes. "Or I might take him for my own. I'm sure he'd make a good body-guard, covered in glittering green."

Disgusted, Clark let go of her, stepping back. She brushed her hands down her front to fix her blouse, and ran a hand through her hair. 

"While this has been an enchanting discussion, I must say, it wasn't what I came here for."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn what you came here for," Bruce said. 

Talia's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, obviously out of patience as well. "All right, then. Prepare to watch your precious Gotham burn."

She turned her back to them and disappeared out the door. As Bruce slipped down into the cave again, Clark listened to the silent footsteps of six people leave their grounds, Talia's teeth gnashing the whole way.

\---

Turns out there were bombs planted around the city, much to Bruce's chagrin. Thankfully, the Birds of Prey and Dick took care of most of them, and Bruce quickly figured out where to find the rest. It seemed Talia had had a grand plan, but hadn't shared it. Bruce was busy dealing with the fallout for a whole week, and the Red Hood laid low. 

Friday evening came, and their kids started dropping in. Dick was in the kitchen helping Alfred making popcorn, while Kon was just going to finish his chores on the farm and come over. Ma had also been invited, but had declined seeing as she had a town meeting that evening that she had to attend. Bruce was down in the cave, much to Clark's displeasure, but until the movie was popped in, he wouldn't say anything about it. 

That left Tim, who'd come home from school and hopped into the shower, and hadn't been seen since. Since Clark could still hear his heartbeat, he assumed Tim hadn't passed out in the shower, a fact which was confirmed when he found his way into the TV-room, wearing a big Gotham Knights hoodie and cut off sweat pants that probably used to belong to Dick. 

"Hey hon. How was school?" Clark asked, patting the seat next to him on the couch. Tim sank down, leaning his shoulder against Clark's, and sighed. 

"Fine," he murmured, running his hand through his hair. Oh boy. Clark recognized this particular mood very well; hell, Bruce was a pro at it. Tim was being somber and brooding. 

"Yeah? How's Steph?" Clark asked. "Haven't seen her around in a while."

Tim considered that. "Me neither I guess. We haven't talked in a while."

"Oh. Why?"

Tim shrugged. "I've been busy."

"Ah. With Conner and Bart?"

"Mostly. And school."

Now that was a blatant lie, that much Clark knew. Tim had a lot of information stored in his brain, and soaked up high school materials like a little sponge, but that didn't mean he put any actual effort into school. He tries his best, but only when it strikes his fancy. 

"Oh yeah?" Clark said, reaching for the remote to avoid looking at the boy, who fiddled with the string on his hoodie. 

"Maybe we've just been drifting apart a bit," Tim said. 

Clark hummed. "Very possible. One of the dangers of being a superhero that people don't mention a lot, is that a lot of the relationships we form are under duress, or during a particularly stressful situation. Then, when you're no longer in that situation, you look around and realize you don't have that special bond anymore."

Tim squinted at him. "Is this you telling me you're breaking up with Bruce?" 

Clark blinked. "What? God no. Why would you even think that?"

"I mean... you don't talk as much as you used to. He's always pissed off now, but it's that simmering rage that only happens when the two of you are having an argument. And you've got your arms crossed more, like you're stopping yourself from touching him. It's gross when you practically make out in front of me, but this is somehow worse," Tim said, shaking his head. 

Clark shook his head back at him. "We're fine, Tim. Maybe you should reach out to Steph, see how she's doing. Maybe meet up with her and think about how you feel when you're with her."

Tim tilted his head, considering that. "Yeah, I guess."

Oh, teenagers and their ambiguity. Clark ruffled his wet hair, slicking it back when Tim grumbled. "You know we're always here for you, right? If you want to talk, or just sit in the same room together, starin' at a wall together... Whatever you need. No matter what, this family is gonna show up for you. Okay?"

Tim blinked, his big blue eyes a little red-rimmed already from his lack of sleep. "Yeah. Um, pop. I know," he said, a little hoarsely. Clark nodded, squeezing the back of Tim's neck reassuringly. In his ribcage fluttered butterflies at Tim's first uttering of pop, something he only heard from Dick on occasion nowadays.

"Good. Want to go check what's taking Dick so long?" Clark asked, realizing Tim needed a moment to himself. 

"Sure," he mumbled, standing up with the tips of his ears flushed from embarrassment. Clark had figured that the best plan of attack when it came to his more emotionally constipated boys was the surprise attacks: sneaking in, planting one on them, and leaving them alone to process. 

Speaking of his emotionally constipated boys, Bruce appeared the moment Tim was out of the room, collapsing into his seat with bags under his eyes. He brushed against Clark, froze, and then draped himself over his partner. "Mm. Warm."

Clark chuckled, turning to wrap his arm around Bruce's waist and sliding down, so they were taking up the whole couch. It was fine. They had a perfectly fine floor with a carpet for the kids to sit on, and two bigger chairs. 

Now, neither of them were by any means small men and the couch was pretty short, meaning they ended up with Clark's leg curled around Bruce's to stop him from falling off, despite their feet hanging off the other end, and with their fronts pressed together, Bruce's head on Clark's arm. This was a system they'd figured out early in their relationship, since Clark wouldn't lose the bloodflow to his arm even if Bruce laid there all night. Strategically explained by Bruce with his Batman voice at the time, but Clark was pretty sure Bruce just enjoyed being the little spoon, with Clark's back against the doorway. 

"Damn solar-power. You're too hot," Bruce mumbled, nuzzling into the fabric bunched around Clark's elbow. His hands, turned cold from the air in the cave, snuck in under his shirt, right at his hip. 

Clark grimaced at the uncomfortable sensation of cold on his stomach. "My favorite heat-leech. You could at least add a radiator under the computer down there so you don't have to use me as one."

Bruce hummed, closing his eyes. "Would still do it. Don't let the kids ruin the TV."

Clark brushed a kiss against his forehead. "I would never, baby."

He laid there for a few moments, listening to Bruce's pulse slow to a crawl again, the ticking from the grandfather clock in another sitting room, the rattling of the manor's heating. Soothing sounds. He was almost about to join his partner in sleep, when he heard the sound of three pairs of familiar footsteps hopping up the stairs.

"Alfred's taking a power nap," Dick declared, hopping over the couch one-handedly for no good reason and landing on the coffee-table. Lucky for him, all Wayne furniture was built to hold. "I see that's like, a thing now."

"Leave your father alone," Clark snarked. "And no feet on the coffee table, please."

Kon peeked over the edge of the couch for a one-armed hug, and then placed a box of Mike and Ike on the table, Bruce's preferred movie snack. "Are we still gonna watch the movie even if B is conked out?" he asked more quietly than Dick had, dropping down in the loveseat standing by their feet. 

"Meh, might as well. I knew the old man was gonna pass out as soon as we put the movie on anyway," Dick said, dropping down into the bigger, cushier chair by their heads. Tim pouted, and gave him a kick in the thigh, before making Kon scooch so he could also fit in his chair. The two of them held the biggest bucket of popcorn in their laps, with Dick inhaling gummy worms as Clark watched how the light from the TV made shadows play over Bruce's face. 

"Yeah," Clark agreed. "It's fine. Put in the DVD."

"Can we not do subtitles?" Dick asked. "They really distract me."

"Just admit you can't read fast," Tim said, throwing a popcorn kernel at him with surprising accuracy. 

Dick gasped as he tossed the popcorn into his mouth, theatrically placing a hand to his heart. "Just because I stole your seat doesn't mean you have to be rude! Learn some respect for your elders. Kon, don't listen to a word this bad influence has to say."

"Oh my god, shut up. We're doing English for the hearing imparied or we're not watching," Tim declared.

"That's extra subtitles! You can hear, Timmy-bird, I know you can." 

Clark sighed as the two of them bickered while Kon did the set up for Spanish subtitles behind the other's backs. It was really all or nothing with these kids. Clark ran his free hand through Bruce's hair to gather strength, delighting in the fact that he had no gel in it. His partner cracked one eyelid open to look up at him, and smiled. Clark's grin in return could probably be seen from the moon, it was so bright.

They were jerks sometimes, but they were _his_ jerks.

\---

Clark was roused from sleep by Bruce's firm, unyielding Batman-voice calling his name. 

_Kal. Come here._

He was out of bed and in his suit in a second, because that was Bruce's _urgent_ voice, the one that held no argument, only demanded. Clark stepped off their balcony, focusing on the resonance of Bruce's heartbeat, and hurried there.

'There' was what seemed to be another rundown residential area. Inside stood Bruce, in full Batman regalia, and Jason, with a red domino and a sharp grin. He was more secure now, obviously more ready to face them on his own terms. Over the safety net that was his plan, he felt safe, looked confident. The white lenses blocked out anything that wasn't scheduled, wasn't supposed to be there. It was very Bruce-like of him, to feel at his best with an intricate scheme running. 

Well. He'd obviously miscalculated, this time. 

"Oh goodie," Jason snarked. "We're all here. We can get this show on the road now." 

Behind Jason lay a few bodies, though when Clark checked, a few of them had a pulse at least. That was a good start, but they needed to get them out of here, soon. A quick glance at Batman showed he'd thought the same thing.

"We're not here to fight," Bruce said, though his teeth were already gritting at the sight of Jason with guns in his hands, of the bodies scattered around them. 

"That's too bad. 'Cause I brought one," he shrugged.

"Yeah, well, put it down then," Bruce snapped impatiently. "I'm not going to fight you."

"We love you, Jay. We just want you to be safe and home with us," Clark said soothingly. 

"Why are you always cleaning up his messes? He's the one who's always got one foot in his mouth," Jason said, nudging a gun towards Bruce. "You're _so_ gullible if you think he cares about you more than you care about him."

Clark blinked. "This really isn't about me and B's relationship, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," Jason snapped, but there was something desperate in his voice. 

"Okay. I'm sorry. I miss being able to call you sweet things. Like my little bookworm," Clark offered, remembering the piles of books scattered over Jason's bedroom floor in the manor, still untouched from the last time he'd thumbed through them. "I just miss _you_."

"I'm not that person anymore. That Jason is dead," Jason declared, like he could _do_ that. Like that Jason wouldn't always live in Clark's memories, in everyone he'd interacted with then's memories. Not a chance.

Clark shook his head. "He doesn't have to be. You can be whoever you want, Jay. And I don't think this is it," he said, a hand sweeping over the bodies on the floor. "It's not what my Jason would want. He'd want better than that."

"I'm not yours," Jason scoffed, but there was an almost imperceptible uptick in his heartbeat that made Clark's heart pick up in response. Jason was lying, even if he didn't know it himself. 

"I signed a paper that tells me otherwise," Clark said, a little breathlessly. "No returns. No take-backsies. It's never been a 'til death do us part' kind of deal. Parents' love stretch endlessly, through time and back. No matter what you do now, you can't take that away from me. You'll always be our kid, our baby."

Jason seemed to consider that. "Now I know why you didn't kill the Joker for me, at least. You're a pussy. But _you_." His focus was solely back to Bruce now. "You don't believe in that shit."

"Yes I do," Bruce said, but he hesitated for just a second too long, and Jason was on it in a second. 

"Then why, _why_ is the Joker still alive? Ignoring what he's done in the past, blindly, _stupidly_ disregarding the entire graveyards he's filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he's crippled, he's still the scum of the fucking earth! If it had been you he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would've done nothing but search the planet for that pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and sent him straight down to Hell."

Bruce shook his head, slow and mournful. "You don't understand. I don't know if you've ever understood."

"What, afraid to get a little blood on your hands? Your moral code won't allow for it? It's too hard to cross that line?" Jason sneered.

"No! It'd be too damn easy!" Bruce shouted, his full booming voice nearly taking out the Batman voice warpers. Clark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. "God almighty, it'd be too goddamn easy. All I've ever wanted to _do_ was kill him. But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place...I'll never come back."

" _Why_?" Jason asked, his voice exasperated. "I'm not talking about killing Riddler, or Penguin. Just him. And doing it because..." He shook his head, trying to stop the quiver in his voice. "Because he took me away from you."

Bruce stared at him in silence. Clark held his breath, watching the air crackle with tension between Jay and Bruce. The main fight was always between the two of them. As much as Clark had tried to insert himself in Jason's life, he'd always taken more to Bruce, demanded most of him. It seemed to boil down to this moment. They always asked themselves what if, what if they'd heard, what if they'd known, _what if, what if, what if._ But the ugly truth was that they couldn't go back, couldn't undo this mistake. Jason would always be burning, too angry and too hot for them to get a handle on. Clark knew what was going to come out of Bruce's mouth before he'd even thought of it himself. 

"I can't. I'm sorry," Bruce said, his voice gravelly even without the modifier. "We tried to save you then, Jason. We're trying to save you now, too."

"Even now? When I've broken the cardinal rule? Okay," Jason said, a scary note in his voice that Clark didn't recognize, putting him on edge. "You see, I'm not as forgiving. Words mean nothing to me. Actions do."

With that, he busted open the door to a closet next to himself, revealing a flash of a wrinkled, bloody purple suit . The Joker coughed as he was tossed to the ground, the chair he was tied to creaking ominously. 

"Oh my. What a doozy," he said, tilting his head back to grin at them with bloody teeth. "Ah. A family reunion? How sweet! And I'm invited?"

"Shut up," Jason said, his voice deathly low. "Or I'm putting a bullet in your crotch first."

"Aw. Boy blunder, you're such a party pooper." Jason cocked his gun, pressing it to the Joker's temple. "Mm. Mums the word." 

Pressing a boot to the back of Joker's chair, he managed to right the two of them. "I'm going to give you a choice, of sorts." He tossed his gun at Bruce, who caught it against his waist, almost on accident. "This has what it's all been about. Now is the time you decide."

With a swift kick, the sorry excuse for a chair cracked in half, and Jason dragged the Joker standing, pressing the gun to his cheek. "If you won't kill this psychotic piece of filth, _I_ will. If you wanna stop me, you're gonna have to kill me."

"You know I won't," Bruce snarled. Clark started looking for exits, ways to get them all out of this alive, but he felt cold sweat at the back of his neck, felt his vision swimming for some reason. 

"You think I won't do it? I will. And if you wanna stop it, you're gonna have to shoot me, right in my face!" Jason dared, egging him on. Oh this was going to go bad. Why couldn't Clark focus? What was going on with him? 

"Oh, this is turning out even better than I hoped," the Joker said, wild eyes tracing everything around them, seemingly unbothered by the gun pressed to his face. 

Bruce stared for another second, and then he dropped the gun.

"Kal," Bruce said, turning away. "Let's go."

"You have to choose! Me, or him!" Jason screamed. His voice echoed strangely in Clark's ears, too loud and too far away at the same time. "Decide now! Him, or me!"

The way his hearing was focused, the click of Jason's gun as he took aim at Bruce's retreating back was louder than the gunshot that followed. Clark gasped as he crashed to his knees, saw how Bruce swung around with a batarang in hand like in slow motion. Jason's gun misfired in his hand, making him yelp and clutch at his hand, dropping the Joker to the ground. 

"B, I-" Clark breathed out, trying to get a proper breath into his lungs as nausea roiled in his stomach. Kryptonite. Of course. He couldn't get his mouth to form the words, but Bruce rushed to his side in a second, seeming to understand.   
The Joker was talking, blabbering on about winning and losing, and Clark saw in the corner of his eye how Jason brought out a little key-fob out of a pocket in his pants. He tried to warn Bruce, tried to remain conscious. 

"Jesus christ," Bruce snarled, focusing on the giant stack of TNT that had been hiding behind the Joker in the closet. On top of that rested an opened lead-box of what was probably Jason's remaining kryptonite. Holy crap. He really was trying to kill them tonight. The red count down was at about one minute. Clark was suddenly terrified for all their lives. "Stupid boy. What were you thinking?"

Jason was holding his hand cradled to his side, glaring at them. Before the Joker could launch himself at Bruce, he threw a bolo at him, stabbing him in the thigh with a sedative to restrain him before snapping the lead box closed. Clark took his first real breath in what felt like ages. Why did he ever doubt his partner? 

"Kal. The others," Batman said, and Clark jerked himself to his knees, speeding through bringing all the other people out of the building to another street nearby. He still wasn't fast enough. 

The bomb shook the ground he stood on, and for a heart-dropping second, Clark thought he'd lost them. Then, when the dust had settled on the collapsed building, he heard Bruce's heartbeat on a rooftop nearby and nearly dropped to the ground with relief. He speeded up there, to find Jason struggling in restraints, his wrists and upper body wrapped in wires and chained to a grate in a nearby vent. It looked like the heavy duty wire they used to restrain Killer Croc, and Clark hurried over to him to stop his painful writhing. 

"Hey, hey," he soothed, running his hands up Jason's arms carefully, trying to stop him from chafing his wrists up. "You're okay, you're safe, baby boy, don't worry-"

"It was supposed to be me. You were supposed to pick me!" Jason shouted over the rooftop at Bruce's unyielding form, breathing harshly like he was choking down his tears. "You were supposed to choose _me_!"

"We chose you. We'll choose you every time," Clark said, cupping Jason's face and trying to get his eyes on him. "Hey. Jason. Jason. Look at me."

"You're the worst fucking father ever!" Jason screamed, trying to shake off Clark's hands to get to Bruce. "I hate you! I hate you- I-" His screaming turned into angry tears, bursing forth like a dam, and his breathing turned into more hiccupy, hyperventilating stops and starts. He was nearly hysterical, barely reacting to Clark's hands on his arms. 

He could tell Jason had had _enough_ for the day. When Jason was mostly just whimpering, Clark brushed a thumb over Jason's face, swiping at the angry tears there. "Shh, Jaybird. I'm so, so sorry. It's not about the Joker, it's never _been_ about the Joker. You're mad at us, and at the world, and you're right, it's not fair and it hasn't been fair to you. You deserve better, _so_ much better, baby boy, but we can't help you if you don't want any help. We love you so, so much, but we're gonna give you your space. Any time you need help, come to us. Okay? Please. Please. Give all of us a second chance." He pressed a brief kiss to Jason's forehead, mourning that he couldn't tousle Jason's short hair. He brushed his thumb over the white swirl, uncurling from around Jason with great regret. 

Bruce stood a few yards away, watching Jason with a completely blank, if very pale face, like he was seeing a ghost. Which is what this was for him, probably. Jason's hitched breaths followed Clark's train of thought when he approached his partner carefully, resting a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"I didn't know what to do," Bruce said, his voice hoarse with emotion again. "I just- I didn't know-"

"I know, baby. But what are we supposed to do with him now, huh?" Clark asked softly. "Drag him home in chains? Tie him up in the cave until he behaves? B. Honey. Look at me."

Bruce reluctantly flicked down the white-out lenses, his face etched in weary lines. "I can't let him go on like this, Kal."

"Okay. Okay. But what, then? Did you think you'd be able to convince him of his wrongs and we'd walk home together?" 

Bruce's blue eyes reflected in the streetlights, particularly shiny. "I- no."

"Then what was the plan, B? I'll follow your lead," Clark said. Bruce continued to stare, and Clark was hit by a lightning strike of realization: Bruce didn't have a plan. There had been few instances of such a thing in their relationship, but whenever that was the case, Bruce couldn't rationalize, couldn't figure out how to make his ruthlessness and his heart line up. "Oh. Okay. We let him go, then."

Bruce pursed his lips in displeasure, but turned towards where... Jason _used_ to be. Instead, there lay a pile of cables, snapped neatly in one place. "Seems he took care of that himself."

Clark tried to tamp down on his rueful smile, but found himself unable to. "Slippery kid, that one."

"Like soap," Bruce agreed, rolling his shoulders to allow the cape to fall forward again. "...What now?" he asked reluctantly. 

Superman took a deep breath of the moggy Gotham air, listened to the scraping of boots on rooftops, the chirping of Bruce's comm in his ear. "Now, we wait."

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any particular quotes you recognize, I borrowed from the wonderful movie Batman: Under the Red Hood. Ofc, these do not belong to me, they're just very funky and helpful for the writing of this piece. I promise I won't do it again? (jk i totally will. Batfam canon is for me to pluck the delicacies from)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was too short, then I wrote more and it was too long! Mad about it, but I can't control my brain or this story apparently.   
> Thank you for your sweet comments! They always motivate me so much!!!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Oracle spread around the threat that anyone who dealt with Red Hood dealt with Batman and his clan _personally_ , and they kept up with it for a good two weeks before his empire started declining, toppling like a house of cards. Cut off the higher ups in a food chain, and the rest falls apart. Bruce figured out the address of Jason's current safehouse and sent a black card to his doorstep. It was as of yet unused, but Clark could tell Bruce had hopes. He didn't think Jason would ever use it though, unless he was absolutely starving, and even then, he might just collapse out of pure spite. 

Dick was in Gotham more than ever, hunting down Jason on midnight patrol just to talk to him. The sheer amount of tracers he kept taking out and 'losing' suggested he was trying to pin Jason down, but Clark didn't think that would work, not really. It was admirable of him that he was trying, at least. 

It seemed Jason wanted to avoid the lot of them as much as Bruce and Tim wanted to avoid him. Which was a _lot_. Clark knew Bruce struggled to keep ahold of his temper, but anytime he brought the situation with Jason up, Clark was shut down. Tim had just been horrified with Jason's behavior, and in an unusually teen-rage way, had decided the second Robin was nothing to have around.

The manor was fraught with tension all the time nowadays. Clark still held firm that if they gave Jason space and time, he'd figure himself out and come back to them, while Bruce held no such real hopes. It had turned into an uncomfortable Dick and Clark against Bruce and Tim kind of duel, and Clark didn't know how to bridge the gap without losing ground. Seemingly, neither did Bruce. 

Having Dick around more was a pleasure though. He'd taken so much personal leave from his job as a cop in Bludhaven that he'd been fired, which didn't seem to bother him too much. He'd been thinking of trying something else that didn't make him feel so scummy, anyway. While he was job-hunting, he was living in the manor with them, which Clark appreciated. 

Seeing him at the breakfast table every morning was always a joy. "Good morning, Dick. How was patrol?" Clark asked, pressing a kiss to Dick's tousled bedhead before he took his seat on the other side of the table. 

"'S fine. Timmy's swinging is getting really good. I think he needs to see it less as a transportation method and more of a fun thing, though," he remarked, flipping through the paper without anything catching his eye. "Did you have to go out tonight?"

"Yeah. Big robots in Metropolis," Clark sighed as Alfred appeared at his elbow with a cup of coffee. "Thank you, Alfred. It was over with pretty quick though. Dipped into Kansas to check up on Kon, and he was conked out like a light."

Dick grinned as Alfred disappeared into the kitchen again. "He's a kid. He needs his sleep. It's tough being out superheroing."

"That is not a word. And all my dang kids need sleep, no matter the superheroing," Clark sighed as Dick slid the newspaper over to him. 

"Speaking of those dang kids," Dick said, avoiding Clark's eyes. "I saw Jason yesterday." 

Clark swallowed hard, tried to sound less desperate than he felt. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've told him that you're sorry. That we don't care what he's doing and we just want him home. That B wants him home more than anyone." 

They met eyes, and Clark took a deep breath. "Oh, sunshine. I appreciate that, but that's _not_ your job." 

Dick shrugged, sliding a waffle off the serving plate between them and stifling a yawn. "I know. But I know B's not gonna do it, Tim's not a fan of Jason, and you're going to get shot again if I let you. I wanna do it."

"Let me?" Clark asked, eyebrows high. "And anyway, I wasn't shot in the first place." He scoffed, shaking his head. " _Let me_. As if you could allow me to do anything."

Dick grabbed the syrup and berries, shrugging with a sweet grin on his face. "Well, pop, let's face it. So far, he's gone after you and B with so many weapons and a lot of deadly intent. He tried to shoot you, tried to blow both of you up, and threw a gun with the safety off at dad. He's only tried to knife me once, and that was on accident."

Clark was immediately standing up, coming around the table to lift Dick's shirt up. "Knife you? Dick!"

"Oh my god, pop, quit it, he tried," Dick said, batting his hands away until Clark got his shirt all the way up his head. This is when Bruce arrived in the dining room, with Tim trailing behind him as usual. They stopped in the doorway at the scene before them, and Clark frowned at them. 

"Did you know Dick got knifed?" Clark demanded. Tim held his hands up, and Bruce pursed his lips. 

"From what I heard, it was almost knifed, I believe," he said, batting Clark's hands away and sliding Dick's shirt away from his face again. "I'm sure Dick is old enough to recognize when he needs care." 

"Or old enough to know not to worry Clark with an almost-injury," Tim snarked. 

Bruce brushed a hand against the small of Clark's back, the first initiation of affection he'd attempted in weeks, and Clark almost startled at it. When Clark found his partners eyes, they were wide like a deer in headlights, like he was worried he'd done something wrong. Jeeze. Clark took a seat again, saw Dick's watchful eyes skimming over the two of them. 

"I'll always worry about you, no matter how old you are," Clark said slowly, turning to look at Tim, who'd taken a seat next to Dick. "How did patrol go for you?"

Immediately, Tim launched into a retelling of their minor busts, and the clues they'd picked up. Bruce sat down at the head of the table, as usual, and after a moment, Clark felt tentative fingers brushing against his knee. He placed a hand there too, and felt Bruce's cool fingers wrap around his, tracing nonsensical patterns on his palm.

Maybe they weren't exactly okay right now, but by god were they trying.

\---

Bruce was at the JL headquarters for the day, helping train the new kids. It was always him and Black Canary that did the honors, seeing as they were the most proficient martial artists of the senior members. Any other abilities the juniors may have, they had separate trainings for, but basic self-defense Bruce and Dinah always took charge of. He was a firm believer of being able to defend yourself without any powers, obviously, and she just liked to kick people's asses, and teach the new kids that Batman wasn't _that_ scary. 

Tim wasn't home from school yet, and Alfred was taking Ace for a walk, meaning that when a mysterious knock came from the front door, Clark was the only one to hear it. When looking with his x-ray vision, he saw two men leaning on each other. Innocent, if a little strange. A second glance revealed the many healed bones on both of them. 

Clark opened the door, not baffled at all that the two of the men were definitely vigilantes. His bafflement was more related to the fact that it was Jason standing there, holding onto the other man, who was wearing a blue trucker cap and what looked like Jason's leather jacket. 

"This is Roy," Jason bit out, glaring at Clark like he was going to say something rude. Clark just blinked, staring at the gaunt stranger on the manor's doorstep, and trying to stop himself from just enveloping Jase in a hug. His hair was longer than when they'd last seen each other two months ago, almost at tousle-length again. His face looked less hollow, and his eyes were _intent_ , like he was still riding the adrenaline high of his decision of coming here. 

"Hi. I come with Jason," Roy chuckled, his voice a little hoarse, and waved the hand tossed over Jason's shoulder in a jaunty way. "Sorry to crash your party."

"He needs medical attention, and you're gonna give it to him," Jason snapped. It was first then that Clark noticed how awkwardly the two were braced against each other, how Roy's arm had a weird angle to it, where it was cradled to his chest. 

"Okay," Clark said slowly, like he was talking a jumper off a ledge. Clark chanced another glance away from Jason's eyes to study the two young men, and saw the red quiver slung over Jason's shoulder, the muted red colors underneath the dark jacket Roy was wearing. "You wouldn't happen to be Green Arrow's boy, would you?"

"I take offense to that," Roy said, his head hanging a little more every second. 

"I see why you and Jason get along," Clark muttered to himself. "Am I allowed to help yet, or no?"

"Yes," Jason grit out through clenched teeth, and Clark stretched his arms out, taking all of Roy's body weight off of Jason. He shifted him easily into a bridal carry.

Roy groaned in pain, and Clark shifted. "Whoah," he muttered. "Like I'm some kinda damsel in distress."

"Shut it," Jason said, but it was with the same kind of voice that he'd used whenever he was stressed, like he couldn't keep himself from snapping and was sorry about it. 

Hurriedly, Clark guided the two of them down into the cave. He knew that if it had been Bruce that was here to answer, he'd be scolding them for taking the entrance hall, but Jason's friend was hurt, and he had no idea of where the cave entrance was, right now. If he noticed Jason stopping a few times to check into some rooms during their trek down to the cave, he didn't remark on it.

Clark placed Roy on one of the cots in the medical bay that was always prepped, and called for Alfred, who arrived only a minute later. His eyes swept the scene, and even if it was the first time he'd seen Jason in real life since his return, he only closed his eyes to gather himself for a moment, no more. 

"Oh my. This is a situation indeed," he muttered under his breath. "Now, what seems to be the problem here?"

"My arm. And my leg. And my head," Roy divulged, eyes almost closed. 

"Ah, then I need you to stay awake and be a good patient, young sir." Alfred turned his grey eyes on Jason, who stood like a deer in headlights. "Master Jason, would you be so kind as to tell me what has happened to your friend?"

"Um, we got a little... blown up," Jason said, his voice gravelly. He cleared his throat. "Roy's arm is messed up, and I think he's got shrapnel in his thigh. And he hit his head pretty hard on an I-beam."

"Goodness. Quite an adventure you've had then," Alfred said, his eyes soft on Jason even as he shifted Roy to evaluate his injuries. "It was very brave of you to come to us for help."

"I-I just didn't know what else to do," Jason said, his blue eyes dark with fear, though he tried to cover it up by crossing his arms over his chest. 

"It's alright, lad," Alfred said in that gentle, soothing voice. "I can take care of your young friend from here."

Jason's nod was sharp and short, and Clark dashed over to the computer panel, quickly typing out a message to Bruce to stay away for at few more hours. When he recieved only a question mark in reply, Clark wrote _trust me_ , and knew Bruce would grumble about it later, but accept it for now. 

Alfred was, as always, efficient and speedy with his evaluation, and had the shrapnel out and all of Roy's wounds cleaned in less than half an hour. Meanwhile, Jason paced the medbay, darting an eye out to the rest of the cave on occasion, as if he was waiting for Bruce to pop in at any second. 

The only real issue was Roy's arm where his bones had splintered, as Clark had discovered when made to look deeper with his x-ray vision. It would take surgery to allow the bones to set correctly, so Dr. Thompson was called in to do it as soon as she could, which would only be in an hour or so. 

As Alfred assessed that Roy didn't have a concussion, and had only had his bell properly rung, Jason seemed to relax a little bit. Clark watched, not so surreptiously, as his shoulders sank about an inch in relief. 

\---

Ever since Jason died, Ace had turned into Bruce's dog, following him to work most days when he went, and out on runs with him and Tim. She was a regular sporty gal still, and while she stubbornly refused to do any of the tricks she'd learned from Jason, she's a very good, very loved dog. She was always up for cuddles, and had recognized Tim as family pretty much as soon as she'd set eyes on him. 

Clark knows that dogs are loyal to a fault, especially Ace who thinks the distinction between family and not-family is very serious business. Therefore, the moment Tim and her step into the cave, Clark sees her little doggy mind being _blown_ , right before his eyes. Ace sniffed the air and was off like a shot, already barking like crazy before she even saw Jason, who was sitting at the edge of his seat.

Ace has always been on the bigger side for a female German Shepherd because of all her exercise, weighing in at about 75 pounds. She pounced on the unprepared Jason, and completely bowled both him and his chair over. They crashed onto the cave floor, loud enough that Tim yelled out in alarm, but Clark could see the recognition on Jason's face, even when he had the breath punched out of him. 

"Ace!" he gasped, repeatedly getting licked in the face. "Oh, your breath still sucks, little lady."

"We have her chew those sticks for her teeth," Clark said helpfully as Jason managed to pet Ace's face away from his, sitting up and promptly having her shove her butt down right between his spread legs, like he was still twelve and they were on the carpeted wooden paneling up in the manor, not the cold cave floor. "But she still despises any of the minty stuff."

Jason buried his face in Ace's neck as Tim approached warily, sliding up behind Clark and glancing at Roy with a raised eyebrow. 

"You kept my dog?" Jason asked, his voice a little teary. 

"Of course," Clark said, tentatively stretching a hand out towards Ace and getting his palm licked for his trouble. "Yeah, honey, it's Jason! I know!" Her tail wagged even more fiercely at the mention of his name, and Clark grinned at her. 

"What'd you think, Jaybird, that they'd take her outside and shoot her?" Roy mumbled from his bed. Clark held his breath, but Jason just snorted, discretely wiping his eyes on Ace's neck. 

"Well, the old man said he'd do that if I messed up with her."

"He would never!" Clark gasped. "Is this what you've been telling people about our parenting? No wonder Catwoman scratched Bruce up like that."

"Where were these scratches exactly?" Jason asked, his voice filled with mocking and vitrol.

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. "Despite what you think of Bruce, he's not a cheater. She shredded his boots with her new claws and tried to take out his Achilles tendon. Thought he might've said something to piss her off, but apparently he didn't even have to do that."

Jason's eyes narrowed, but it looked less threatening when Ace was licking his face. "According to Dick, your partnership isn't all that solid nowadays, anyway."

Clark was floored with the fact that Dick and Jason had any contact at all. Maybe his hunt for Jason was going better than they thought. At the same time, Tim snapped: "Because of you!"

"And this is my replacement, huh?" Jason asked, eyes burning again, a flash of unnatural green tainting his eyes. 

"It's okay, Tim," Clark said, squeezing his neck and pulling him back a little by the grip. The last thing he wanted right now was for the two of them to get into it. "Go get something to eat. Bruce is running late, so Alfred's not planning on any dinner before patrol."

"Hiding, is he?" Jason asked, as Tim shook his head and took off up the stairs again.

"You wanted help. We're helping. You want him to come home only so he can throw you out on your butt?" Clark said, a little harsher than he would have normally, if only because Jason's attitude was bothering him. When Jason remained mutinously silent, glaring at his pop, Clark sighed. "Didn't think so."

"I appreciate you helping," Roy announced, making fingerguns at Clark with the hand that wasn't wrapped and restrained for the moment. 

Clark smiled, shaking his head. "I'm happy to hear it, Roy. You had a pretty great fall, it seems."

"Humpty dumpty. Nice."

Clark squinted, and remembered that Roy had recieved a hard blow to the head earlier. "How are you feeling?"

"'m good. So good. The cave looks bigger than I remember."

"You were here as Speedy, huh? I don't remember Green Arrow being here with you," Clark recalled, sitting down in the chair next to Roy's bed. Ace continued to take up most of Jason's attention, licking his ears like her life depended on it while he tried not to laugh, and back off at the same time. 

"Nah. Dick snuck me in once," Roy said. His eyes widened. "Oh. But don't tell Batman."

"I won't," Clark promised, shaking his head at teenage Dick's antics. "Anyone I can call for you, to let them know you're here?"

Roy considered that. "Nah. I've got Jay. And Lian."

"Lian?" 

Roy grinned the dopiest grin. "Yeah. Tha's my baby. She's three."

Clark blinked. That would make Roy about nineteen at her conception. Oh boy. "Yeah? Sure you don't want me to call someone for her?"

"Nah. She's safe. 'S why I helped Jason with his thing. She's gonna be mad about the cast unless I let her draw on it."

Clark grinned at him, breezing over whatever 'thing' this was that they were talking about. "Kids are sweet like that. When Jase was little and broke his arm, he let me draw a mermaid on his."

"Was it a good mermaid?" Roy asked, turning towards Jason. "Jay. Was it good?"

Jason pursed his lips, arm still wrapped around Ace. "I- yeah. It was nice."

"Does Lian like mermaids?" Clark asked, for lack of anything else to ask. He knew from experience that doting parents liked to talk about their kids, and from Roy's goofy smile, he was one of those parents.

"Eh. Her current obsession is pirates, because there's some cartoon about it that we watch every single day. Jake something? John? Jones? Jay," Roy said, flopping a hand.

"Jake And The Never Land Pirates," Jason supplied helpfully. 

"You hang around Lian a lot?" Clark asked, smiling at Jason. 

He shrugged. "Enough. She's a good kid."

"I'd offer to babysit your little girl sometime, but I don't know how well that'd be received," Clark said, eyeing his son. He was drumming his fingers against the cave floor, the other hand running through Ace's fur, where her big head now rested on his thigh.

"She's more of a Wonder Woman fan," Roy divulged, like it was a secret. Clark smiled.

"Dang. Alright then. I consider myself defeated. She sounds like a sweet girl."

"The best," Roy smiled dopily. He glanced at Jason, who was distracted by Ace rolling over on her stomach to demand pets, and then added, in a lower voice: "Jay's a good kid, too."

"Yeah," Clark agreed. "Thanks for keeping an eye on him for us."

"Mm. Not for you. Just for me," Roy said, patting Clark's hand. "Not promising I won't get him into more trouble."  
Clark hummed, looking over at Jason. "He'll do that on his own, no doubt."

Seeing him play with Ace reminded Clark of how young he was, barely twenty years old. His smile as he watched Ace roll around on command was small, but the sweetest thing Clark had seen all day. Jason noticed him looking, and the smile was gone in a flash, like a lightbulb breaking right in front of his eyes. 

"I'm only here cause I had no other option, okay? Don't get that look on your face," Jason said defensively. 

"What look?" Clark asked, despite being pretty sure he knew exactly what his face looked like right now. 

"You don't want me here. You've replaced me anyway," Jason said, a clear challenge. His chin jutted out and he stared at Clark defiantly, daring him to prove him wrong. 

"Jase, honey, Tim helped us heal, but he was _never_ your replacement. He can't replace you, the same way that you didn't replace Dick. You're our goddamn kid, Jason. No matter what Bruce says, we'll never really give up on you," Clark said, staring right into Jason's eyes, wanting to telepathically insert the information in Jason's brain, to make him _understand_.

"Damn. I forget Superman's your dad. So sincere," Roy mumbled from the bed. 

"Shut up," Jason snapped. 

"Hey, I'm a cripple. Don't yell at me."

"You are not a cripple, Mr. Harper," Alfred said sharply from where he'd appeared in the doorway. "Stop that nonsense this instant. If you hadn't reached us in time, you could have been, however. Dr. Thompkins should be here in just a few minutes, and then we'll set your arm, and you shall be fit as a fiddle with some rest and relaxation."

"Friggin' _bats_. Why do you know my last name?" Roy demanded, and Alfred raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. 

"I know a great many things, I assure you. Such as the fact that it was you who chipped my expensive, Queen Victoria tea set mug," he said, with an entirely blank face. Roy went pale, blinking with true fear up at Alfred. "Not to worry, Mr. Harper. As soon as it was discovered, Master Bruce replaced the set. It was an accident, I'm sure."

The intercom buzzed, and Alfred disappeared to go grab Leslie. 

"Shit. Your butler's the scariest one of all of you," Roy declared, grabbing his heart with his non-injured hand.

Clark chuckled, and shushed him. "It's a secret." He winked at Jason, who stared back, biting on his index finger's nail a little nervously.

Leslie came bustling into the room, her sharp eyes taking in the scene. She was, despite her short stature, quite an intimidating woman, who took none of Bruce's bullcrap and was very steadfastly pacifist. Clark really appreciated Leslie, and that despite her disagreeing with Bruce, she still helped them whenever she could, performing the surgeries that Alfred's training wouldn't allow. 

Jason scrambled to his feet, with Ace scrabbling after him, pressing her side against his leg. The movement made Leslie's brown eyes catch on him. 

"Jason! My, you're tall now. Why do your kids grow like weeds, Clark? What are you feeding them?" Leslie demanded, patting Jason on the cheek. "Get out of the way for me, kiddo." 

Almost automatically, Jason stepped back, drumming his fingers against his thigh to get Ace to follow. Clark, too, removed himself from the fray, as Leslie went over to examine Roy's x-rays. 

"My kids aren't even that tall," he told Roy mournfully, only to make the archer giggle. 

"Okay, Superman, leave the professionals to work," Leslie said, shooing them out. "And no, you reading an entire medical library does not make you an M.D."

Clark raised his hands in submission, and backed out into the cave. Jason, however, took Clark's seat, with Ace immediately putting her head in his lap for scratching. 

"I'll stay out of the way," Jason promised, glancing at Alfred pleadingly. 

"I'm sorry, Master Jason. It's a question of sanitation. Less risk of infection without a dog in the room," he said. "Do please wait outside. We'll do this as efficiently as we can."

Jason hesitated, but stood up. "I- thanks."

"Yes, yes. Now shoo," Leslie said with a playful little smile. "It's not like this is taking time out of my day as it is."

"She's joking. She loves us," Clark said, loud enough that Leslie heard it, and huffed at him. 

Clark walked over to the computer panel, and took a seat in one of the computer chairs. Jason followed warily, checking out their surroundings more thoroughly this time as Ace circled around his legs, her tail wagging. When it was clear that Jason was occupied, she trotted over to Clark to get a pat, and then she was off towards Jason again. 

"So... What now?" Jason asked, his eyes vulnerable when he glanced over at Clark. 

He shrugged, leaning back in the computer chair. "Well. I have time, barring any emergencies, to just sit here with you, if that's what you want. I can grab you a book, and we can just... Sit here in complete silence and wait for Roy to be fixed up, if you want to."

"Really?" Jason asked, eyes narrowed. "No handcuffs? No checking me for weapons, or giving me a stern lecture on what I'm supposed to be doing with my life?"

"Do you want me to do that?" 

Jason glared at him, but didn't say anything as he crossed his arms over his chest. He sank down into another one of the computer chairs, seemingly determined to wait. Clark could do that. He could be very patient when he needed to be.

During the whole of the hour and a half of surgery, Jason sat in the chair, swiveling back and forth on occasion. Ace found a ball somewhere and made him toss it for her to fetch, but other than that, the two of them sat there in silence. Clark texted Bruce, who was in a board meeting and probably more busy than he let on. Clark managed to snap a picture of Jason cuddling Ace, and sent it to Bruce, who stopped replying. 

"That should do it," Leslie said as she emerged from the med bay, rubbing disinfectant on her hands up to her elbows. "Now we just want him to come out of the anesthesia, and we'll let the two of you get out of here, even if I'm recommending that he rest his leg for some time. You livin' with him?"

"Yeah," Jason said, standing up fast. "What about it?"

"Jeeze, relax kid. Just keep him off his feet for a few days, then make him take walks around the apartment, then around the block. Active rest. He should heal up fine. If he screws up his cast, you know where my clinic is." She paused, pursing her lips. "And if he falls off the wagon, that's also me you've gotta come to. I'm not giving him anything other than antibiotics, but now you know, either way."

"He's clean," Jason snapped on behalf of his friend. Clark raised his eyebrows. "He's fine."

Leslie put her hands in the air defensively, raising challenging eyebrows at Jason's tone. "I'm not saying he isn't. I just know pain is one hell of a motivator. Be compassionate if he hurts, but don't slip him anything. Got it?"

"Fucking hell," Jason huffed. "No. Of course not."

"Watch that foul mouth, kiddo," Leslie smiled. "Good that you're looking out for him. Well, Alfred knows what to do. I'm going to head home. As always a pleasure. Give my best to Bruce."

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," Clark said, giving her a hug when she kissed his cheek. "You're the best, Doc."

"Hm," Leslie agreed, and disappeared up the stairs. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I fudging medical details? Oh yes. So much yes. I know it's hard to do surgery, as I'm studying medical stuff. Am I also willing to hope that wiggling reality for story-telling will slide here? Yes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had exam this friday and conked out until one pm the next day afterwards, no joke, hence why I hadn't the opportunity to write or upload earlier. Thank you for your patience and your wonderful, sweet, insightful comments!!   
> Enjoy! <3

It was nearing the time when Bruce would be getting home, no matter the circumstances, to get into his suit and patrol Gotham. Clark could hear Tim shuffling through his notes upstairs, obviously impatient to go out but willing to follow Clark's lead on giving Jason space. Roy was awake but groggy as all get out, and in no real condition to be moved yet. 

Clark watched the computer screen's time anxiously, watched Jason's jiggling leg bouncing up and down. Listened to the ticking of the clock above in the study, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Just when Clark thought he might go nuts from the sheer amount of sound and at the same time the lack of it, Alfred cleared his throat in med-bay, silent enough so that he wouldn't be heard by Jason but loud enough to get Clark's attention.

"He does have a spare suit in the Jaguar, which he drove out today," Alfred said in a low tone, his body facing away whilst he fussed with Roy's cast so Jason wouldn't see his lips moving. "I believe today has been tough enough on Master Jason without any encounter with Master Bruce."

Clark sighed. Is that what this had come to? To the family tip-toeing around them, waiting for either of them to make a move? When Alfred walked around the bed to remove the IV, he looked to Clark, who shook his head. 

"We'll give him back, you know," Clark pointed out with a small smile, making Jason raise his head to look at him. "If you're itching to get out. We'll keep him safe, but he's free to go whenever he can be allowed to operate heavy machinery."

Jason furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not leaving him here. Let Bruce come back and see me! I don't fucking care."

Like Clark was stupid enough to let them go at it in the cave, of all places. "Okay. So, which part of my statement don't you trust? The fact that we'll keep him safe, or let him go?"

Jason's frown became more pronounced, and he crossed his arms. "Don't do the psychology bullshit with me, Superman."

"Oh, so I'm _Superman_ now? That's interesting."

Jason rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Immediately, Ace dove with her entire face underneath his arms, breaking up his pouting to make him start petting her again. "Couldn't keep _me_ safe," he muttered pointedly, staring into Ace's eyes as he scratched under her chin.

Not the letting go part, then. So he at least didn't think they'd hold Roy for ransom. That was something, right? "Trust me when I say you didn't make it easy for us. God, just thinking about the bullets you jumped in front of still makes me shiver to this day." 

"The bullets scared you?" Jason scoffed. 

Clark ran a hand through his hair with an aggrieved chuckle. "Jason. _Of course_ they did. Bruce kept having to shoo me away after patrol because I was always terrified you'd broken something, in the beginning. When you came home with that broken arm, I nearly lost it on him."

Jason looked thoughtful, for the first time since entering the cave, like he was listening, like he was thinking about Clark's words. Clark tried to pretend like this wasn't the most important thing in his life right now, and probably failed spectacularly. "I didn't know that," he mused. 

Huffing awkwardly, Clark wiped his palms on his jeans, thinking back to his heart in his gut at the dried tears on Jason's face, at his solemn little pout. "Guess I kept face well enough when we were wrapping you up, but whoo boy, when we'd tucked you in... I was about to tear B a new one for letting you out of his sight long enough for that to happen. The only thing that stopped me from really going off on B was the fact that he had the same terrfied look on his face too, when he took the cowl off."

"Yeah, right," Jason scoffed. 

Clark shook his head at Jason's disbelief. "I don't get why you don't believe me. You know we care about you, or if you want to be stubborn, cared about you. If anyone, you _loved_ Bruce. You know exactly what he's like. He's silent, and stubborn, and can't tell you why he loves you without it being like pulling teeth. But you can _see_ it. I know you did, at least. He wouldn't be as upset as he is right now, if he didn't love you." 

"Well, with that wonderful description," Jason snarked, but with wide eyes, "why are you even with him?"

Clark opened his mouth to argue, but decided that explaining to anybody, for the quadrizillionth time, why he loved Bruce would help exactly no one today. "Okay. I see we're not ready to talk about that more. That's fine. We can go back to being quiet."

Jason bit his lip, and bounced his leg, making Ace playfully nip at him. After a moment, he cursed under his breath, and got up to pace by the med-bay, too impatient to remain sitting. Clark went back to watching the time tick by. He heard Bruce's Jag approacing from somewhere in the distance, and wondered if he should offer to speed the two young men out of here. While he was annoyed that the two of them couldn't even be in a room together, he also didn't want to have to break up a fight today.

"You good soon? Don't have time to wait around for your fussy ass all day," Jason said, though his eyes betrayed his concern for his friend. 

"I'm right as rain, Jaybird," Roy said, stretching out his uninjured hand for help sitting up. Jason took it and pulled, righting Roy when he swayed a bit. "Okay. Maybe not. But I can totally stand, if you want out of here."

Jason made an annoyed sound as Roy slid his feet off the bed to stand. "Not if you're gonna sway like a drunken sailor, jackass." 

"I'm cool, 'm cool," Roy assured him, blinking slow. "Where the hell are my shoes?" Clark watched Jason support Roy into his shoes with a lot of bickering, under Alfred's watchful eye. When he was again wearing his pants, the two of them walked over to the elevator. Jason was back to glaring, like he'd taken a break and was now reminded that he actually hated them. 

"Hey, Jay, what do we say?" Roy asked, pointedly nudging his friend. 

"I'm not your fucking kid," Jason snapped under his breath, but turned his head to face Alfred. "Thanks, Al. You're a life-saver."

"Any time, Master Jason," Alfred promised, so beamingly sincere that Jason had to look away from him. Ace followed them in the elevator upstairs, and Clark flew up to the foyer, watching Jason attempt to pull his leather jacket over Roy's cast and the archer laughing at him. 

Ace continued to circle around Jason, bumping up against him and Roy, like she was trying to help. Clark sighed. 

"Jason... I'd rather Ace stay here with us," he said softly. Jason's eyes snapped up to him, and then down to Ace. His whole face crumpled for only a second, before he shook his head. "I know you want to bring her with you, Jase, but here there's always someone home, and she's getting to be an old gal. I don't think she'd enjoy the change of pace. She still goes with Bruce on runs, and she gets her favorite treats. It's a good life for her. You can visit her anytime you'd like to."

Jason ran his now free hand through his hair in exasperation, and it hit Clark with a sudden clarity that this was a mannerism that their boy had picked up from _him_. Suddenly watching him leave felt ten times harder, but he knew that Jason needed a little space, to get away from the bullcrap Talia had fed him, to cool off. This was a good step in the right direction, that he'd reached out, that they could help when he needed it, but Clark was far from believing this was enough, on either part.

" _Fuck_. Ace, girlie," Jason said, calling her attention to him. When she perked up immediately, a sad smile tickled the edges of his lips. He patted his palm to his chest, and she let out a soft 'awoo', hopping up to lick his face one more time. 

"Ace?" Clark said, maybe a little more hesitantly than he should've. She looked at him like he was being stupid, that Jason was family and family should be here and under her protection. _Especially_ Jason. "I know, honey. Come here."

She gave another soft, mournful 'awoo', and dropped down again. Jason gave her one last scratch behind the ears, and then she came over to Clark, slinking behind his legs. 

And then they were out of the house, the door closed behind them with a bang and a curse. The roar of the Jag came ever closer, and Clark listened to Ace's whimpers as Jason heard the Jag too, and kicked his motorbike into gear. There was only a few seconds between the sounds of Jason's bike on gravel, and the tires of the Jag rolling up to the house. They'd likely passed on the driveway. Clark finally exhaled the suspended breath he'd been holding. 

He waited, listened as Bruce closed the door to the Jaguar, climbed the stairs and opened the door. Ace was on him in a second, whimpering. 

"Don't worry girl, I'm safe," Bruce promised, smoothing a gloved hand over her head. "Good evening, Clark."

"Good evening, sweetheart," Clark said, recieving a brief kiss on the lips as Bruce unwound his scarf from around his neck. "Exciting day?"

"You tell me."

"Tim told you," Clark deduced after staring for only a second at Bruce's face.

"Are we an ER now?" he asked bemusedly, pulling his gloves off to reveal his beautiful, strong hands. 

"Don't say that. We've always been an ER. But he came to _us_ , B. This is progress, no matter how small. He trusted us to take care of his friend, no matter the consequences for him."

Bruce shook his head, a small smile on his face still. "No, he was ready to gamble his freedom to help his friend."

"Isn't that an admirable quality then? True to your values?"

"Hmm. Did you have a good talk?" Bruce asked, removing his coat and striding towards the stairs.

"It was fine. Short. Wait, hold it right there, mister! There's no way I'm letting you into the cave until you've eaten something," Clark said, pointing an accusing finger Bruce's way. 

He froze, eyeing how serious Clark was about that threat. When Clark raised his eyebrows in challenge, he sighed, and let Clark steer him into the kitchen. "You're too touchy about my meal habits, Kal."

"You can't run on coffee and steam. At least have one of your smoothie-things," Clark said, skeptical to the core as he moved towards the tea pot. Bruce snorted, but pulled one of the pre-made shakes out of the fridge.

"Special diet," he reminded him, wiggling the glass as if to show it off. "Not all of us have a magical metabolism."

"With the amount of hours you put in, that can't be an issue for you. What, scared you're getting to be an old man?" Clark teased. Bruce stopped for a second, tilting his head to watch as Clark pulled cups out of cabinets with ease, grabbing Bruce's favorite tea for him. 

"Hmm. No. Just... Surprised, I suppose."

"You're so morbid, Bruce," Clark murmured, pressing a kiss to his partner's cheek. "Of course you're gonna be an old man. We're gonna do it together, remember?"

Bruce sighed, cradling Clark's face in one hand to look into his eyes. Clark saw the serious contemplation there, the gears always whirring on in the background. Always something to do, no matter what was going on. "Yeah. I do."

"I'm holding you to that, you know," Clark reminded him, and Bruce's serious face twisted into a private little smile. 

"Yes, Clark. I know."

\---

Clark thought that that was all the drama he would have to endure for the day, but then again: teenagers. He came to remind Tim to throw his Robin suit in the cleaning bin when he was done with it after patrol, and found him in one of the sitting rooms attempting to do homework while chewing a mechanical pencil like he was thinking about something very intently. The poor piece of plastic was almost unusable at that point. 

"Hey Timmy. How are you feeling?" Clark asked. Tim opened his mouth, like he was going to say something, and then snapped his mouth shut again. 

"Fine."

Clark made a negative buzzer noise, sitting down next to him on the couch. "Nope. Don't buy that. Try again. You've obviously got something on your mind, or else you wouldn't be givin' that poor pencil hell."

Tim blinked, and took the pencil out of his mouth like he'd only just noticed. He geared up again. "Why's he such a jerk?" came out in an explosive puff of breath. Tim's cheeks had turned rosy, with anger or embarrassment, Clark couldn't tell.

"Jason, I mean. He came here expecting help for no reason, and he blows up at the mere mention of Bruce. In his own _home_."

Clark hummed. "I know we don't talk about Jason a lot, but I know you admired him as a Robin. Do you know what happened to him?"

"He got caught, and the Joker beat him senseless before blowing up the building he was in," Tim recounted. 

Clark nodded, and took a deep breath to steel himself. It was always easier if he pretended it was info for an article, something awful that hadn't happened to their family. "Yes, and no. It's not quite so simple. Jason was having a tough time with his morals when he was a teenager. He was really mad at the world and in general at crooks, because of the way he felt they were ruining Gotham. He'd gotten excessively aggressive around criminals, and he and Bruce were fighting about it a lot. He found out that the woman he thought was his birth-mom wasn't actually his birth-mom, and tracked down the real deal. What he didn't know, was that the Joker had her under his thumb. She was fake-kidnapped, he came in his Robin getup to rescue her, and she betrayed him. The Joker beat him senseless, then tossed both Jason and his mom into a warehouse that he then blew up."

Tim's blue eyes were dark with dawning understanding. "Oh."

"Now, from what that horrible woman Talia told us, something made Jason come alive again, and she tossed him in the Lazarus pit. Do you know what that is?"

Tim nodded, nibbling on his top lip distractedly. "Magic. The kind Bruce hates." 

"Yeah, pretty much. It also drives you nuts. It's a steep price you have to pay to get to live like that. You can learn to live with the pit madness, but it's... difficult, to say the least. Did you notice Jason's eyes?"

"They're a different color from your portrait of him. More green."

"Yeah. Nicely noted, Tim. It's a side effect that'll probably fade with time. So, he's had a rough couple of years. He blames Bruce for not taking the Joker out for what he did to him, and he blames me for not hearing him and coming to his rescue. Now, I'll admit he was a bit of a jerk before any of that happened, too, but it was the good kind. The kind filled with heart. He gave back to his community, and was brash and young and... Vibrant. That guy that you met, he's not the Jason we raised. I think we could still find him in there, but he's been through a lot. What we need to do is give him time. I know if he could just see you as a little brother, he'd be the sweetest in the world to you."

"Why would I need more than one dumbass older brother?" Tim asked, but he wasn't looking at Clark, likely too lost in thought, twirling these new aspects of Jason around in his head like a new clue.

Clark smiled to himself, and rested his cheek on the top of Tim's head. "Well. That's a starling good question, Tim. Let me know if you figure it out."

\---

As much as Tim has felt like theirs for quite some time now, it's strange to remember that he has a real father, as well. One that doesn't care for him like they do, sure, but a father nevertheless. When Jack Drake is murdered, Bruce brings a shaking Tim home to the manor. He's in shock, still. Even if they didn't see eye to eye with each other, it was still Tim's father, his last flesh and blood.

Bruce settles the papers to have Tim emancipated, so he can claim his inheritance, and Tim signs the papers like a zombie, moves out of his old house that had barely anything of his in it. It's jarring to note the difference in Tim's behavior. He was always quiet, sure, but it holds another meaning now. It's not because he doesn't have something to say; he's just lost in his own world. 

Clark watched Tim curled up on the windowsill in his room, what had always been his room here at the manor. He looked small, wearing a big hoodie that probably used to be Dick's and pajamapants. His slumped shoulders and dark circles under his eyes made him look absolutely exhausted. Clark ached for their boy. 

"Want Kon to come over?" Clark asked, leaning against the firm wood of the doorway. 

Tim shook his head, a small motion. "It's fine. He's got a test tomorrow."

"I'm willing to bet that doesn't matter one ounce to him, in comparison to you," Clark said firmly. "I'll go call Ma right now."

"Really Clark, don't." 

Clark bit his lip, and turned to look at his partner, a silent presence against his shoulder. Bruce cleared his throat. "I'm going out. Do you want to come with?" he asked, his voice awkward, if gentle. 

"No thanks," Tim said, attempting the saddest excuse for a smile Clark had ever seen him pull off. "I think I just need to sleep, right now."

Bruce paused, and nodded. "Alright. Let me know if you change your mind."

Tim nodded, and Bruce took a hold of Clark's elbow, pulling him away as he shut the door behind them.

"Maybe we should-" Clark began, turning on his heel less than a yard from Tim's door. Bruce caught him and turned him back around. 

"No. Trust me on this one," Bruce said, his voice firm. "Tim's been through a lot recently. We've extended an offer of company, and he said no. Until he reaches the point of self-destruction, we're leaving him to process alone."

They met eyes, and what felt like an ocean of communication passed through their look. Bruce was saying, _I got this, I understand this, let me handle this._

Clark sighed, but let himself be led away. 

Despite himself though, he couldn't stop worrying. He trusts Bruce with a lot of things. He trusts him with his life, their kids, that he knows what he's doing in pretty much any situation. He does not trust that Bruce understands how grief works in other people than himself. 

Don't get him wrong, Bruce has gone through his fair share of grief, and he's dealt with it to a certain, if a little interesting, point. He and Tim are very similar people. It tracks that what Tim and Bruce need in situations such as these would be pretty much the same. 

But Bruce forgets that he's never, ever been alone to deal with his grief. Alfred was the one to hold his hand and build him back up after his parents' death, and Bruce and Clark helped each other back to a new state of normalcy after their loss of Jason. 

It's why Clark's back at Tim's door in less than an hour, to find that he's not asleep at all. Rather, he's pacing his room, looking for all the world like any loud noise might startle him into jumping out the window. 

"Hey Tim," Clark said softly, making the boy twitch. 

"Hey Clark," Tim said, stopping his pacing. It looked like it took considerable effort to do so, though. 

"Thought you might want to talk. Or maybe just vent a little bit. I know you and your dad had a odd relationship."

"Odd? Yeah, I guess," Tim said, scoffing. 

Clark bit his lip. "Do you want to go to his funeral?"

Tim sighed. "Is there really an option?"

He shrugged. "You can make it one."

"No. I have to show up, be the normal Timothy Drake, push out some tears for the press," Tim said, his voice bitter and filled with resentment. The pacing started up again, his fingers drumming restlessly against his thighs. 

"Is that what Bruce said?"

"It's a good idea. It's what's expected," Tim said. 

"People usually go to funerals to grieve, to talk to people who knew the deceased and share memories. As a last goodbye to a loved one," Clark reminded him.

"But I hate him," Tim said, with conviction. 

Clark shook his head. "I don't think you do."

"But I do! I- I've had to lie all my life about what I do, pretended to be normal for him, to not worry him!" Tim gripped the short strands of his hair. "Whenever he actually did pay attention to me, it was only to yell. He found out I was Robin and all of a sudden he cared whether I lived or died! The last thing he said was that he loved me, and I couldn't even believe him, really. I _hate_ him."

Clark hummed, and sat down on Tim's bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I know your relationship hasn't been that great. But he's still your father. He still shaped whatever parts of you that you didn't shape yourself. You're allowed to hate him and love him at the same time. Annoyingly enough, these are the sort of emotions that are closely intertwined, especially in family. You can be upset about him being gone and hate him, too, if that's what you want."

Tim stood frozen for a moment, staring unblinkingly at Clark, entirely baffled. Then he rubbed a hand over his face, like he was trying to wipe the expression off. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

Clark pressed his lips together. He was unsure of how to breach another uncomfortable topic. "Did you always feel like you had to hide all of yourself from your dad?"

"I guess, yeah. But it was for the Mission."

"Uh huh. What about other parts of yourself? I know he just wanted you to be a normal kid, but you already had a lot of things other 'normal' kids wouldn't have. Was there maybe something else you didn't want him to know?" 

Tim's eyebrows furrowed. "Like what?"

Clark held his hands up. "I don't know. Something about yourself you didn't think he'd approve of."

Tim's jaw dropped. "Oh. Uh."

Clark hurried to soothe. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I just want you to know that we love you very much, and we want to help you feel okay. We know that this is a hard time for you. If you need anything, and I mean _anything_ , ask. Please do that for me?" 

Tim's lips trembled. "Okay. Um. Yeah. I will."

"Now, I have something else to ask of you," Clark declared, standing up again. He opened his arms. "A hug?" 

Blinking rapidly, Tim collapsed against Clark's chest, letting himself be enveloped in a warm hug. Clark knew his hugs were good. He was a pretty big guy, and always very warm. He rested his cheek on the top of Tim's head, rubbing his hands up and down Tim's back. He didn't say anything about the silent tears running down his face, and just let Tim take a moment to grieve, whatever it was he felt needed grieving about. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disaster bi Tim Drake, anyone?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have busy plans this weekend so I'm posting today! This one was a rough one to write, 'cause Clark resonated with me in this instance :))  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Clark entered their bedroom at four am smelling like ashes and feeling grimey, exhausted and ready to go to sleep. A large apartment complex had caught on fire, and it was only because of Superman being there to grab the people on the highest floors that there had been no casualties, only minor injuries. He'd taken off out of the cave, and saw that Tim's costume was missing, meaning that he was out on the streets. It had bothered him a bit, but he assumed that Tim wouldn't do anything too crazy tonight.

He took a shower in their master bedroom, too tired to go down to the cave. When he stepped back into their bedroom, he found Bruce standing there, in black sweats and a black t-shirt. 

Clark smiled at him. "Hey there, handsome. Late night?" 

Bruce's face remained unchanged. "Why couldn't you listen to me?" he asked, eyes intent. "I thought we agreed Tim needed space."

Clark blinked, shaking his head as he walked over to his side of the bed. "This is a partnership, B, not a dictatorship. I didn't agree with your assessment, so I did what I thought was right. If I didn't agree with you on a mission, I'd do the same thing."

"No, we'd fight very publicly and talk it out until we found a compromise. This is not that. This is you diso-"

Clark cut in. "If you're gonna say anything about _disobeying your orders_ , you need to think real good and hard about if you wanna finish that sentence. You made a judgement call, I didn't agree, and I acted accordingly. You don't give orders to me here, because this is our home! Or at least that's what I've been told, as we've lived here together for quite some time."

"Of course," Bruce said impatiently, moving towards his side of the bed too. "But I told you Tim would be fine."

"But he isn't! He's your standard of fine, which is performing his vigilante duties to perfection, but he's not fine! He's a sixteen year old boy who just lost his father. He needs compassion and time, and maybe a shoulder to cry on sometimes."

"That's not what he needs," Bruce protested. "He needs to feel useful, like we're not using kid gloves on him."

"No, that's what you need!" Clark snapped as he fumbled his way under the covers, his indignation making him uncoordinated. "Bruce, he _is_ a kid. He's not even legally an adult yet. Being mature beyond his years doesn't mean he doesn't deserve the same leeway other kids are being given."

Bruce grabbed his flailing leg, untangling it from the covers with a severe look on his face, mulling Clark's words over. "I know that. But if what he wants to do is work-"

"You'd rather him become a workaholic than deal with his grief? Bruce," Clark admonished, shoving the extra pillow between their heads so he could roll over in the night. 

"I just- If that's what he wants, why should I steer him away from that? He has the right to make his own decisions. We can't micromanage everything he does. He'll kill us in our sleep," Bruce protested, resting his head on his own pillow, facing Clark. 

"Because it's unhealthy. He needs distraction, sure, but not like that."

"Why not? I want to understand," Bruce said, his blue eyes burning like a sunbeam tracing over Clark's face. "It's something he can do, something he can be good at, feel productive and competent. Why take that away from him?"

"Because he can't stop himself from going into overdrive and working himself to death. You're the same, baby, so you can't see it, but trust me when I say that letting Tim drown himself in his work is only going to result in a spiral steadily downwards. You did the same thing after Jase."

"You almost stopped working all together. Which one of us got over it better?" Bruce challenged. 

"It's not a competition!" Clark huffed. "It's about what's most helpful for Tim. What he needs to get better, in the end, and that's not burying himself in work."

"Then what?" 

"Routine. Time. Support. Maybe more family time. He can still go do Young Justice stuff on weekends, but if he's getting too involved, we pull him out."

"Helicopter parenting," Bruce said derisively. 

"And what are you doing, when you're putting trackers in their shoes and weapons? Being _relaxed_?" Clark retorted. 

Bruce shook his head and, to Clark's surprise, rolled out of the bed. "I don't have to listen to this."

"Where are you going?" He sat up, and saw Bruce pulling on his robe, which was draped over a chair. 

"To go sleep on the couch." 

"We have several guest rooms!" Clark huffed back, and Bruce waved him off, closing the door softly behind himself. 

Annoyed, Clark fell back into the bedding, twisting himself into a cocoon with Bruce's covers. The bed felt too empty with just him in it, but he curled up on his side and tried to sleep anyway, pretending the burning ball in the pit of his stomach wasn't eating him up. 

\---

It's almost as if she was watching, as if she knew of the silent rift expanding in their home, and had to be a part of it. Had to be there to stir up more trouble. Clark learned of Talia dropping in from Alfred, who greeted him at the door of the manor when he got home from work, with a young boy trailing behind him. He was wearing a strangely cut shirt, white and with black soft pants. His eyes were sharper than Clark was used to from kids, his face set into a frown. 

"This is Damian," Alfred introduced, a resigned look on his face. 

"Damian al-Ghul," the boy said, tipping his nose up in a haughty way to meet Clark's eyes. 

Always a bad sign, to hear that name roll so easily off someone's tongue. "Oh. Where's Bruce?"

"Father is in his study," Damian said, and Clark tripped on air.

"Father?" he chuckled. _Father_? Ridiculous. Totally incomprehensible. "Give me a moment."

The moment he was out of sight, Clark sped down the corridor, arriving at Bruce's door in a mere second. Trying the handle, he found the door unlocked, and he stepped inside. Bruce was standing by the window, wearing his regular attire at home: slacks and a turtleneck, but where he would usually stir at any noise, he seemed lost in thought as he stared out at the grounds. 

"What's this about a Damian al Ghul? Another one of Talia's tricks?" Clark asked jokingly. 

Bruce turned faster than usual, almost like he was genuinely startled by Clark's entrance. He blinked. He looked more tired than usual, the crows feet by the corner of his eyes more pronounced. "He's been here all day. Probably here to stay," Bruce muttered.

Clark gaped. "Excuse me?" 

"It's- you remember before I met you?" Bruce asked, running his hands through his hair in an uncharacteristic sign of exasperation. Clark couldn't exactly tell where it was directed, but the way Bruce wouldn't meet his eyes suggested it was himself, rather than Clark.

"Vaguely," he muttered. Bruce gave a wan grin, glancing out into the gardens again, without seeing a thing. 

"Seems Talia did something I didn't see coming," he muttered, almost like Clark wasn't in the room. He was growing increasingly worried at his usually stoic partner's distracted manner. "We had one last, passionate night before I took off so they wouldn't have me killed. Talia took offence, I guess, or she just seized the opportunity, but there's no doubt it had consequences."

"What are you saying?"

Bruce finally turned to look at him, in the eye. "Damian is my biological son."

Clark felt as if the air was punched out of him. He sank down into one of the chairs. " _What_?"

Bruce sank down in his desk chair too, and leaned his elbows against the desk, putting his face in his hands. "Talia is definitely crazy enough to save my sperm, and the DNA-tests don't lie, not after you've run them three or four times."

Still sitting in stunned silence, Clark could barely believe a word he was hearing. "You have a biological child you didn't know about?"

There were whispers, of course, and the homophobes, who said Brucie Wayne wouldn't be satisfied with just one man, would meet the right woman sometime, but despite all of that, Clark has never doubted Bruce's fidelity. He knows his partner pretty goddamn well at this point, knows that Bruce will flirt to get what he wants and then come home and ride Clark like a bucking bronco to feel better about it. From the look on Bruce's face, he can also see that this is as much of a shock to him as it is to Clark.

"I... Yes. And he's _here_ ," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what Talia thought, when she dropped him off. He's nine. So far, he's been nothing but rude and entitled. He told Tim he was going to break his face the moment he met him. I don't think he should be left alone, for even a second. At least not until we figure out Talia's plan."

"Talia's plan? Jesus, Joseph and Mary," Clark murmured, tipping his head back for lack of anything else to do. Mostly, he wanted to yell, maybe throw something. Something heavy. Preferably a rock the size of a small building, maybe.

"Well, I imagine she has some grand design, as usual," Bruce said with a roll of his eyes, reaching out for Clark's hand.

Clark pulled away, unable to look up at Bruce's hurt expression. "I just... I need a second," he said, moving the hand up to his forehead instead. God, he wished normal medicine worked for him. Maybe that'd be able to stave off whatever headache this was. Could he even get stress headaches? 

Bruce's hurt morphed into anger. "Oh _you_ need a second? Well, Clark, think about me!"

"I always do! I always, always do," Clark lashed out, his teeth gritting in an angry grin. Bruce's eyes widened, and then quickly narrowed. Once he'd started speaking, Clark found he couldn't stop. "It's always about getting you to feel balanced, as if you're not the one with the most training in that aspect! _You're_ the one with the steel mind and yet I'm the one who has to keep cool in every situation! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have talked to Dick for a whole year, just because you were pissed he was growing up! Without me, you'd have been too caught up in your grief to give Tim what he needed when he came to us, and too stubborn to do what he needs now! And- And _Jason_ -" Clark could see Bruce's hackles rising, his shoulders sliding up, as if the name was taboo, like Clark wasn't allowed to talk about _his own child_. "He was our son to grieve, B, our son that needs to heal, not just yours, and I think sometimes you just- You just forget that." Clark's throat clicked, choking off his words, and he took a wet, steadying breath. 

The silence of the room rang loud in his ears, and Clark pressed his shaking hands to his face. The stone cold look on Bruce's face spoke louder than any words. 

"God, Bruce, I'm sorry. You know I love you, I just- I need time, right now. It's- It's too much."

Bruce remained silent, likely processing, and Clark felt the pressing need to be gone, right this second, out from under Bruce's pinning gaze. He was right in that Tim needed time. Maybe what _Clark_ really needed right now, was some space. Space let you put things into perspective, made you reassess your priorities, think things through. 

Because of their many years together, Clark knows that leaving the manor after a big argument is a risk. He knows that leaving is an opportunity for Bruce to lock the doors, to change the passcodes, to bar Clark from coming back. It's usually Bruce's instinctual response: push people away if they hurt you. It's childish of him, but Clark has long since accepted that when Bruce watched his parents die, a little piece of him has never left that moment. Give him an chance to shut you out, and he will take it, nine out of ten times. 

But in this instance, neither of them are really angry. There's no simmering rage, no crackle in the air. Only tension and silent misery. It's why Clark feels that he can leave, that he can pack a bag without it inciting any feelings in him other than hollowness. Bruce watches from the top of the stairs as he ties his shoes, pulls on his jacket and hat, but remains deadly silent. 

\---

Despite living with Bruce for so long, he'd kept his shoebox apartment in Metropolis, not that he'd actually lived there for the past couple of years, or intended to. He was Metropolis' keeper, always would protect his shining city, and sometimes he honestly didn't have the energy to fly back to Gotham after an event, so he always renewed his lease, kept dry groceries with long shelf-life there. In this instance, he was very happy about that. 

The apartment held some sweet memories for him. It was the one he'd moved into when he'd come from Kansas to the big city, all those years ago. His first and only bachelor pad, where he'd been a real adult for the first time, on his own two feet. He'd had many movie nights with Lois here, had gone down on Bruce for the first time on the kitchen floor, had tucked a young Dick into bed a few times here, when he'd still used it more frequently. It held a lot of before-Bruce memories too, of writing some of his favorite articles here, of a newly-befriended Diana breaking one of his tea mugs and apologizing profusely. 

He'd only been there for an hour, contemplating to himself what to make for dinner now that he was without Alfred's amazing cooking, before there was a knock on the door. Sighing to himself, he got up from the couch, and opened the door. Dick pushed past him into the apartment, already pacing over the worn living room carpet by the time Clark had shut the door behind him. 

"Hello to you too, Dick. Tea?" he asked, moving towards the ancient kettle. 

"Are you and B getting a divorce?" Dick asked, eyes wide and devastatingly young for a second. Clark had been there his entire life, and imagining Bruce without Clark or vice versa felt strange and unreal. 

Clark sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms. "We're not married, Dick."

"Is it civil union in Jersey? Whatever, my original question still stands. Are you leaving him?" His son was intent, staring at Clark with the same piercing look as Bruce whenever he was trying to figure someone out. For once, the resemblance didn't make him proud, just made him sad. 

"I'm not- I just need some time, okay? We've been-" He took a deep breath. "We've had some issues lately, since-" His throat clicked, and Dick's gaze wavered, "since Jason came back, and with Tim's dad dying, and Damian showing up didn't exactly help. I just need some time, right now, okay? It doesn't change how much we love you, or Tim, or Jason. Okay?"

Dick still looked skeptical, and Clark dropped down on the couch, pulling Dick into his side and kissing the top of his head, like he was still eleven and not in his twenties. At least squeezing his boy to his side was still familiar. 

"I know Bruce is an asshole, pop, believe me, I know, but please don't make any big, hasty decisions right now. _Please_?"

Clark chuckled. "What, you think leaving Bruce would be easy for me? I've spent most of my adult life with him, honey, I'm not going to make any decision lightly."

Dick exhaled some of his tension, leaning more firmly against his dad. "Okay. I just..."

Clark pressed a kiss against his son's fluffy head. "I know, honey. How's Wally?"

"He's fine. We had lunch a week ago. Seems like Young Justice is doing really well. They're hanging out at the old Titans headquarters a lot."

"That's great," Clark agreed. "God knows Tim should have some outside superhero influence."

Wrinkling his nose, Dick smiled, that sunshine grin that always managed to make Clark feel a little better, too. "Yeah. He's turning into such a mini-Bruce, huh?"

"Yeah," Clark murmured, leaning his head back to stop himself from thinking about a mini-Bruce. "You're right."

He listened to Dick talk about his week with half an ear and humming in all the right places, the rest of his toughts whirling around like a washing machine. 

After Kon, he thought... Well, with the way that had happened, it seemed like even if he and Bruce had been able to make any kid at all, his wonky DNA wouldn't have fitted in properly. A mini-Bruce would've been their only other option for any sort of biological kids. They'd just... not talked about it, because they had their hands full with Kon, and Tim, and Steph, and Dick. They'd talked about giving Dick a sibling, when he was still a little boy, but it was still unheard of for a gay couple to be able to even have a surrogate, at the time, especially in New Jersey, and they couldn't move for obvious reasons.

For a couple who loved each other as much as they did, they were remarkably bad at talking to each other sometimes. This was certainly one of those times. 

\---

He sent Dick home with reassurances that he wasn't going to make any rash decisions, and that he'd give it time. He hadn't been lying when he said that he wouldn't make such a choice easily; in fact, it would probably be the hardest decision he'd ever made, if it ever came down to that. 

Clark stayed at his apartment for almost a week, spending whatever time he wasn't at work, or with the JL, just thinking. He called Ma, who was as shocked as they'd been, and spent a lot of their call just cussing Talia out, to Clark's mild embarrassment and amusement. At least she would always have his back, no matter what. That he could always trust in. 

"Ma," he said, trying to interrupt her for the third time. "Ma! If I ever used such foul words, y'said you'd whoop my ass to the moon and back."

"Yeah, well, that was _you_ , Clark Jonathan Kent, not me. Actually, you have my word I won't say a single thing against whatever you wanna call that woman," Ma said heatedly.

"Geeze, Ma, what's going on?" came Kon's horrified voice from somewhere by the phone. Clark grinned, imagining Kon's baffled face. Yeah, Ma was a sweet lady, but she was very protective of her boys, and always had been. 

"Have you talked to Tim today, Conner? Go ask him. I'm too heated to talk right now," she said, and Clark heard the flapping of a newspaper, like Ma was fanning herself. 

"It's fine, Ma. We'll figure it out. We always do."

"Do you want to come stay with us for a few nights?" she offered sympathetically. "I know you don't like being away from your man."

Clark considered that. While it would be nice to work out some frustration through some chores on the farm, he didn't doubt that he would only be inflamed by Ma's mood. Something else that his time with Bruce had taught him: nobody thought rationally when they were in a tizzy, not even the great Batman himself. "No thanks, Ma. I can come out this weekend if you need help with something?"

"Conner's a great farmhand, no real need. Just thought you might want to get away a bit," she said. 

"Thanks, Ma, but I think I just need to think alone."

"Alright then," she said, but now she sounded concerned instead of incensed. "I'm sure Lois would be of a lot of help, when you've had your thinking time. Keep us updated, and eat well, ya hear?"

"Yes Ma," Clark agreed, with a small smile. "Love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart," Ma said lovingly, and hung up. 

Throughout the whole week, Bruce let him have his space, but encouraged Tim to call him and tell him about their patrols and his day, which Clark appreciated wholeheartedly. No matter what happened, they were a family, and that would always be the most important thing. 

It was Talia's fault, again. Always, always Talia. Clark wondered if there was some sort of therapy group for people whose partners had super annoying, evil exes.

"I feel like there is, but maybe not the kind of group therapy you could actually have use for," Lois remarked over coffee at his place. She'd kicked off her heels the moment they stepped inside, and was now seated in Clark's cramped kitchen, her legs crossed at the ankle. "You need more, like, a very specific coup in her little guild to get her without power, so she can't mess with you guys anymore."

Clark shook his head. "Her father's dead. It's why she dropped Damian on our doorstep. She's trying to get ahold of the League and she wants Damian to be safe, supposedly. All she's doing is getting more power to screw around with our lives, nowadays." Tidbits Tim had shared with him in one of their near daily phonecalls. 

Lois frowned. "Well, that's convenient for her, isn't it? _Skank_."

Clark sighed. "Lois."

"Oh please. I'm sure you've wanted to call her much worse."

Clark ran his hands through his hair. "If it had been a year ago that she did this, it wouldn't be this much of an issue. But Bruce and I have just been at each other's throats so much recently. Even Jason remarked on it."

Lois whistled. "Dang. Well, what are you fighting about?"

"How to deal with Jason. How to deal with Tim. We're having polar opposite attitudes on things. We've always had arguments, of course, but it's never been this... bad. Or this drawn out. I just don't know... I don't want to fold, because it feels like it's always me that folds, y'know?"

"I get that. I think you're both stubborn and hardheaded, but usually you don't need to butt heads because you agree, but when you do decide to fight, it's because it matters a lot to the both of you. Do you see his side of the argument, at least?"

"Yeah." He understood that Bruce was violently opposed to Jason doing what he was doing, and that he wanted Tim to feel like he was able to make his own decisions. 

"Do you feel like he's hearing you when you talk about it?"

Clark pressed his lips together. "We... don't."

"Don't what?"

"Talk about it."

Lois frowned. "Clark! That's relationship 101 stuff! You guys are usually so good at that, weirdly enough."

"I guess," Clark murmured, letting his head hang. 

The truth was though, that ever since Jason returned, they'd stopped communicating like they used to. They disagreed about how they were going to deal with him, so they didn't talk about it, and not talking about that snowballed into not talking about a lot of smaller things, like their missing date nights, Bruce's packed schedule, and Clark's time spent at the JL. Tim had been spot on, telling him that they didn't move around each other like they used to. Clark knew he had hurt Bruce when he said he would leave if he hit Jason, but he also wouldn't back down on that, _couldn't_. No way. 

The way Bruce wanted to handle Tim also set him on edge. It was Bruce's stupid coping techniques rearing their ugly head, his unprocessed trauma that meant he was willing to let Tim go down the same road, but Clark knew that it would only lead to destruction. The only reason Bruce wasn't a complete workaholic was because of Clark and Alfred's tireless reminding and nudging, and even then, if he was working on a particularly troublesome case, it was always hard to drag him away from the computer to eat, to sleep. That Bruce couldn't see the danger in his actions, Clark could understand, but that he would so easily let Tim ruin himself like that, really bothered him. 

The added issue of how easily he'd let Talia strike at them when they were down... Well, there were a lot of things that Clark hadn't said, lately, about his displeasure. It felt strange that their conversation no longer flowed easily, that their communication wasn't as effortless. They were a mess, their kids were a mess, and now there was _another_ kid here, that Bruce was just going to take on, as well as Tim and Jason? 

But what else were they supposed to do? Send Damian back to his mother? He didn't think that Bruce would be able to do that, despite his initial dislike of Damian's manners. That a child of his own should be subject to those horrors that the League committed... No, that wouldn't fly with Bruce.

In the end, Clark came to the same conclusion he'd drawn years ago: he'd raise however many kids with Bruce as they both wanted, as long as it was _their_ kids. Damian was just a boy, had no say about the circumstances of his conception, couldn't control the way he'd been manipulated and raised. Being a parent was about showing up every day, even when the kids were being awful. A parent's job was never really finished, even when the kids grew past eighteen. No matter their current circumstances, they were a family, cobbled together with blood, sweat and tears. Missing some pieces, sure, but ready to be whole again. 

Clark went home. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have... edited this so many times I can no longer see any of the glaring mistakes. Pls lemme know if I've left something gruesome to read in here.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update once a week, but I feel like whenever I attempt to give myself structure like that, I fail at the update schedule lol. Trying my best tho!  
> Hope you're enjoying this story! Tell me in the comments what your favorite scene has been so far!  
> Thank you guys for reading! Enjoy this chapter! <3

Leaving when Damian had only been with them for a day didn't actually strike Clark as something untrustworthy of him to do until he unlocked the door to the manor and stepped inside, only to find a katana pointing right at his face. 

"Is this how we greet each other now?" Clark asked, partly because he was genuinely curious, and partly because he was very tired from sleeping in a bed without his partner. It always made him antsy and uncomfortable, and in this case a little loopy, apparently. 

Damian's murky, suspicious eyes didn't leave him. "You're Superman, then," he sneered, his voice high pitched but scathing. Clark took a moment to really look at the boy. Talia's sharp tongue and haughty demeanor, that's for sure. Martha Wayne's nose though, and Bruce's thick, curved eyebrows. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed that before. What with all the posturing, it didn't seem like Damian appreciated Clark giving his katana such a blasé look. 

"On occasion, yes. Generally, I go by Clark. Is Bruce home?"

"Father is in his study," he said, pursing his lips. He didn't move out of the way, either. 

"Okay. Hi, Damian. How's your week been? Are you finding things okay?" Clark asked, deeming that this attitude had to be dealt with right now. 

Damian's eyebrows furrowed, twisting his face into a menacing scowl. "Yes."

"Great. Have you let Alfred know your favorite meal, yet? It's a little tradition we have, when people come home from trying missions. The person who's been gone longest gets their favorite meal. I'd say you've been gone for quite some time," he said, trying on a disarming Clark Kent smile for size. 

Damian sneered. "Your foolish traditions do not interest me."

He felt his smile dimming. "Ah. Alright then."

"And I doubt your cook knows how to make any dish to my standards," he sniffed. 

Clark shook his head. "Alfred is something quite more than just a cook, and even then a very good one. You should know never to underestimate anyone, Damian."

"Ah, Master Clark," the man in question said, stepping into the room and taking Clark's coat from him before he could protest. "Would you like for me to put on the kettle, then?" 

Trust Alfred to act like he'd never been gone. "Yes, thank you Alfred. It's about tea-time, isn't it? Who's home?"

"Miss Brown and Master Timothy are downstairs, and Master Bruce is in his study. Will the green sitting room do?" he asked. 

"Can we do the blue one, please? I fear I won't be able to drag Bruce as far as the green one."

Alfred did a little bow, with a quirk at the corner of his lips. "I have all the faith in the world in you, Master Clark." 

Clark smiled at the old man, patting his shoulder. "Thank you, Alfred. It means a lot, coming from you."

Damian watched their interaction with crossed arms and calculating eyes. When Clark set off towards Bruce's office, Damian was right on his heels, switching grip on his blade with a way too casual air. "Do you always speak to your servants like that?"

Clark guwaffed, shaking his head. "Servant? Alfred's only _technically_ a servant, and even then, we should treat everyone with respect and kindness, no matter their social standing in this messed up world. Don't be fooled, champ. Alfred raised Bruce before he went off to train. That's basically your other grandpa."

" _Grandpa_?" Damian repeated, scandalized enough that he stopped in his tracks, his fingers shifting on the handle of his katana again, more out of restlessness than need, this time. His entire face had shifted into shock and disappointment, with a trickle of disgust mixed in there, making his little nose wrinkle. 

"Gonna leave that to process, I guess," Clark muttered to himself, striding away to Bruce's office door, and knocking. 

"Come in," came Bruce's sweet baritone voice from the other side of the door. Clark took a deep breath, and opened the door. 

The first thing Clark noticed when he opened the door was the smell of Bruce's favorite persian chai, Sadaf with cardamom. It was what Alfred would always brew when he was upset, though Bruce would certainly deny to his dying day that it made him feel better. The lovely aroma filled the room, lingering even now that all was left was the cup, standing behind him on his father's old cabinet. Bruce's hair was a little more ruffled than usual, like he'd been frustrated a lot, and had run his hands through his hair. From the distant look on his face while he stared at his computer screen, he wasn't exactly paying attention to his surroundings. His unfathomably deep, steel blue eyes, tracing the outline of the screen while he rested his chin against his clasped hands, almost took Clark's breath away. 

It was sort of ridiculous, really, that they'd made it this far, and were still this madly in love. Clark knew that a lot of couples, after their kids moved out and after having dealt with heartbreak, found that there was nothing left for them, nothing left between them. He couldn't even imagine that happening between them, after all this time. No, the man behind the desk was the love of his life, there was no doubt about it. 

When Bruce looked up and they met eyes, Clark was reminded of the silly notion that absence made the heart grow fonder. He didn't agree, not exactly at least. It just gave you a little perspective, somewhere to turn your eyes toward. A future without Bruce would be bleak, boring and lonely. Nothing about it appealed to him. He knew his partner struggled with keeping up with the rest of them socially, on occasion, but he also knew that Bruce always tried his best for his family, always wanted to do better by them. He knew down to his bones that they would always be alright, in the end.

That didn't mean they didn't have a few things to talk about. 

"Hey," Bruce said, uncharacteristically the first to break their fragile silence. 

"Hi," Clark sighed. 

He rose from his chair slowly. "Did you have a good week?"

Clark shrugged. "It was long. Lonely. It's true that you get used to life's luxuries. I missed Alfred's cooking, like a lot, but it's so much effort to cook! We've gotta start giving Alfred at least half of the week off dinner duty."

Bruce's eyes crinkled at the corner in a genuine smile. "You know he wouldn't stand for that. If you manage to wrestle more than two days from his control, I'll be mighty impressed."

He grinned back, and they stood there in silence, probably looking like two idiots as they stared at each other, taking the other in. It really shouldn't be this weird after just a week of separation, should it?

Bruce took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself to break the tension. "I hope Tim kept you updated."

"Yes. Yes, he did. Thanks. I hope Dick didn't come to yell at you?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Dick, yell at me? No. Why would you suggest such a preposterous thing?"

Clark smiled, shaking his head. "You're right. _That's_ never happened before."

Rolling his eyes, Bruce leaned his palms against the desk, his fingertips tapping against the dark wood. He pressed his lips together briefly, like he was getting ready to bite another bullet. "And did you come to any...conclusions? While you took your much needed...space?" 

"I- yeah. I did. I love you, and our family, and all that we have together, so, so much. It's just..."

"Talia," Bruce surmised. 

Clark nodded, pressing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose so he wouldn't have to meet his partner's ever observant eyes. "Yeah. _Always_ her."

"You know she means nothing to me, right?" He walked around his desk to get closer to Clark. 

"Yeah. Yes. I know that," he sighed, shaking his head. "It's just.... You have a kid together. That's the sort of thing that binds you together forever, no matter what."

"Last time I counted, we have about three to four kids together, depending on how possessive of Stephanie Babs is feeling. Besides, it's not like we'll be organizing a custody schedule. She dropped Damian at my doorstep and took off. Can't really give him back, exactly." 

"Yeah, I guess. Again, it's just a _kid_. That you've had with your _ex_."

"I didn't cheat on you," Bruce said, his eyes intent. "You know that, right? I would never do that to you. I-I love you too much for that. There is nothing you do that leaves our relationship lacking for me. You...you're the only thing in my life that's consistently made me happy." 

Clark closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A lot of the people who know the story think Bruce cheated on him, and Clark understands why. Damian's only nine years old, and they've definitely been together longer than that. Without knowing Talia and Bruce's history of battling for control, it's hard to imagine someone might take sperm and freeze it only to make a test tube baby without consent, but Talia is... well, Talia. 

Everyone in the JL looks at him like they pity him, even when Clark knows deep in his gut that Bruce would _never_. He's done the math too, has counted backwards from Damian's birthday about ten times at this point, and knows that Bruce was with him the whole day Damian was supposedly concieved. He _knows_ , alright? 

"I know, Bruce. I know," Clark said, reaching out a hand towards his partner and feeling lighter the moment their fingers intertwined. Bruce pulled him back towards the desk, sitting down and facing Clark when Clark leaned up against the side of the wood, in a familiar position. "You know I love you too." 

Bruce hesitated, before bracing himself again. It was obviously pry-yourself-open day for him, which Clark appreciated now, when they were really trying to communicate. "I think I can sympathize with how you're feeling. How happy did you think I was when Kon showed up?" He shrugged. "You're right. It was a lot to spring on you."

Clark pressed his lips together. "Okay, I can see the Kon analogy. I didn't know it upset you that much, though. Why didn't you tell me?"

Bruce rolled his neck, making it pop. "Well. You were happy with having another Kryptonian around, and I didn't want to rob you of that joy. I know I'm a difficult enough person to love as is-"

"No," Clark said, shaking his head and cupping Bruce's wonderful, scruffy face in his hands. Kryptonian bright blue met steel blue, and Bruce covered Clark's hands with his own, as if to keep them there. His gentle hands, like he was afraid to press harder, made Clark's declaration all the more intent and fierce. "No, never say that. It's not difficult to love you at all. I love you all the time, easy as anything. Thank you for letting me have Kon anyway. I'm sorry you were upset. Thank you for helping, even when you felt that way." 

Bruce exhaled a shaky breath. "Now, when you say things like that, how am I even supposed to respond? I know we've been having a rough time recently, what with... with Jason. I know he's our son, not just mine. I know Tim needs compassion and love, and maybe it's just been too much for me to be able to give. All I know is how to make him feel competent, and if I can't even do that, how can I help him at all? I've been a bit wrapped up in myself recently, I guess. Was thinking more about what I could do, rather than what we could do. God, I should've... I should've been paying more attention to you. Before Damian came, before... Before everything went to shit, and afterwards. I'm sorry."

Clark blinked. He swallowed once, gathering courage, because... "Fuck yeah, you should've."

Bruce blinked back, eyes wide in surprise. The corners of his lips twitched, almost involuntarily. "I've been getting bad at remembering all that you do for me, and for our kids. And I've been bad at appreciating you."

"Uh-huh. Keep talking," Clark said, drawing his hands back to cross them over his chest and smile. The spark in his partner's eyes glittered. 

Bruce took a deep breath, because this was hard for him, always had been, especially since Dick started getting older, ever since Jason died. "I'm going to fly us to Paris on my jet, cancel all my meetings, tell the JL to fuck off, and then we're going to spend several weeks only ravishing each other, drinking wine and eating croissants. You deserve to be cared for, and I want to do that for you."

Clark snorted at this mythical vacation, but when Bruce's calloused fingertips touched his chin, he allowed himself to be guided down and kissed. It was brief, but warm and tender, and something in him ached at having Bruce so close again, relished in the sweet touch. 

"Is that so?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes. I've been a neglectful partner. I should be lavishing you with the attention you deserve," he said, his voice deepening. Clark felt a little stirring deep in his gut just at that, at Bruce's seductive tone, and shook his head to clear it. 

"We're not going anywhere." At Bruce's frowny face, Clark hurried to reassure. "Not right now, anyway. First, we're going to get to know your son. Then you can grovel all you want."

Bruce sighed, and tentatively leaned his forehead against Clark's thigh. He sank his fingers into his partner's hair, and saw Bruce's shoulders relax a little. "He's such a little brat," he muttered into the muscles of Clark's upper thigh.

"Nature and nurture. He's got two bratty parents, and he's had no other guidance," Clark said philosophically. 

"Hey," Bruce grumbled, but didn't actually rise to the bait. 

Clark grinned. "I think we can kill that with kindness. How's he supposed to understand something that isn't even in his frame of reference, without some time to get used to things? We'll just let him take it at his own pace."

Bruce wet his lips, a little nervously. "I... I don't know how to help Jason. I don't know how to help Tim. I don't know how to be the kind of partner you deserve."

"You're trying. That's all I ask of you. And we'll figure out what Tim needs as we go along. About Jason... I think we've done all we can, for now."

"I don't like that," Bruce said, raising his head to shake it. "I know he's running around with Queen's kid, but he's still wielding guns like they're his favorite toys. We should use Dick's communication with him to-"

"You know that he hates when you do that, right? He accuses you of being manipulative, and to get him back, you prove his point?" Clark interrupted. 

"Let me _finish_ ," Bruce said, entangling his free hand with Clark's as he spoke. "We should use Dick's communication with him to invite him to a family dinner, here, at the manor. No strings attached, just an... invitation. Somewhere to start, to open other lines of connection that aren't as tenuous as Dick running after him on patrol."

"You want to invite him to dinner when the two of you can't even stand to be in the same room for over ten minutes? That sounds like a recipe for disaster. I don't think we want him and Damian meeting just yet, either. It feels like it'll end in a bloodbath, whether it's us that's dead, or the two of them, I don't know."

"So what do you suggest?" Bruce griped. 

"Small, casual, unprepared moments. Dick can take Ace on a walk in town. Jason lives in Gotham, somewhere. Probably has some eyes on us so he doesn't have to meet up with us. If it's Dick he can talk to, then we give him opportunities to talk to Dick. Plus, I think Dick should come stay with us for a little while. He seems pretty stressed, and he should meet Damian. I think he'd be a good influence on him."

Bruce hummed. "You just miss your sunshine." 

"Can you blame me?" Clark chuckled, running a hand through his partner's hair again. 

"No," Bruce murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Clark's hand. "No, I suppose I can't."

\---

Generally, ten-year-old boys like him. They look up to Superman, and if they don’t, the mild-mannered Clark Kent is usually still a hit because he’s tall, he never talks down to them, and because he listens. 

So, in general, kids like him. But Damian… Damian hates him. _Loathes_ him, looks at him with daggers in his eyes, like the only reason Clark is alive right now is by the grace of God, and because he doesn’t have any green K on hand.

Damian required a firmer hand than Tim had, and both of them were out of practice. He wouldn't listen to a word Clark said, no matter how many times Bruce snapped at the boy about it. To him, respect had to be earned, and he only listened to his "real father". Clark had decided to grin and bear it, but Bruce was furious, always quick to shut Damian down. 

Dick had business to finish up in San Francisco before he could head back to Gotham, and wouldn't be joining them for at least another week, much to Tim's chagrin. 

Oh yeah. If Damian ruffled anyone's feathers in the Wayne household, it was Tim Drake's. Clark hadn't seen Tim act like this as an actual pre-teen, but it was as if Damian's manners irked him to the point of reducing him to an actual child. If anyone bickered, it was the two of them. Damian mocked Tim's competence as a warrior and a person every chance he got, and Tim called Damian every foul name in the book, like Clark couldn't hear every word they said. 

The main crux of Damian's accusations were based on the fact that Tim wasn't Bruce's _real_ son, that he could never take over his legacy or his company if he wasn't his son by blood. Adoption was fake, was just a name on a paper and held no real meaning. He didn't even make an attempt to grasp the concept of it, only sneered at the thought. 

Usually the two of them argued behind Bruce's back, if only because Tim didn't want to act petty in front of his mentor, and Damian wanted Bruce's respect, but it got around. The blood thing irked Bruce particularly, which was made apparent at a family dinner.

"How's your shoulder fairing, Tim?" Bruce asked Tim as he took his first bite of carbonara. 

"Did you get hurt during patrol last night?" Clark asked, turning concerned bright eyes on him immediately. 

Tim rolled his eyes at the two of them. "No, it was like a week ago. And it's fine. I've been swinging with the other shoulder instead. I feel fine, but I'm going to rest it a little more before I grapple with it again." 

"How'd you get hurt, anyway?" Clark asked, swirling his spagetti on his fork.

"Probably his inferior handling of weapons. I know _I_ would've done better, father," Damian announced. He'd barely touched his food yet, leaning over the table to look at Bruce. The space where Dick would sit, on Bruce's right, was left empty, meaning Damian and Tim were facing each other. Clark started rethinking that idea when he saw the annoyance on Tim's face. "Failure is unacceptable. Anything other than perfection should be punished. He's not even of your blood, you should've left him to fend for himself."

Bruce's stone cold face was brutal when you knew of Bruce's capability to be soft. Damian, so far, did not.

"Blood means _nothing_ to me," he said, probably sharper than he should have. "I consider Tim as more of my son than you. Faliure means you've learned something, but if you can't even grasp that, I don't even know what to do with you. All you do is continue to insist that you know what you're doing, but you're a _child_. You've been ungrateful and rude since the moment you got here. I don't care what kind of training you have, I don't trust the league and I don't trust your mother's intentions in sending you here." 

"Yikes," Tim muttered, but he looked sort of pleased, which. Whoo, boy, Clark was not happy about that. Watching a sibling get verbally whooped at the dinner table was not a point of celebration.

"What your father means is-" Clark began, ready to soothe, but was cut off almost immediately.

"I don't care for your opinion on the matter actually, _alien_ ," Damian snapped, obviously hurt by his dad's words, and Bruce stood up so fast the table rattled. 

"He has more claim to his seat at this table than you do! You don't get to talk to him like that."

"Yeah, shut up Damian!" Tim said, way too cheerfully. Seemed that Bruce had had enough of that, too. 

"I'm sick of the two of you arguing!" he said, raising his voice just enough that Tim and Clark stilled in their seats. That was Bruce's serious tone, the one he used when he was attempting to reign in his temper and failing. The two of them recognized it immediately. Damian, however, did not.

"Arguing? It's not much of an argument when your combatant can't use words nor sword," he sneered at Tim.

"Your mom dropped you off on our doorstep like a hit and run because she got sick of looking at your fucking face!" he shouted over the table, grabbing his fork. 

Damian's grin was wide and mocking, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his seat. "At least I _have_ parents, _orphan_."

Tim was on his feet in a second, the fork forgotten in his goal to get at Damian with his bare hands. Bruce shouted, making Damian yell, and Tim was just raging mad enough that his snarling made the combination of all three ring like a cacophony of sound. Alfred stuck his head out of the kitchen with a disapproving tilt to his eyebrows. 

"Okay, okay!" Clark shouted, raising his voice just enough that it silenced them. "That's _enough_ , all of you! Damian, apologize to Tim."

"Why should I? I was only telling the truth," Damian said haughtily.

"You have two parents and none of them love you," Tim snapped. "Does that make you feel any better?"

"Quiet," Bruce grit out, pressing on his temples. "Both of you. I'm done. Go to your rooms. Stay there. I don't want to see either of you until tomorrow at breakfast, when all of us have had some time to calm down."

"But patrol-" Tim cut in, very decisively. 

"Take the night off to consider why the two of you can't even attempt to get along," Bruce shook his head. "And I'm expecting an apology each at breakfast, just so you know. Now, go." 

Tim kicked his chair back with a loud noise and took off. Damian waited until Tim was out of the room, and when he went to open his mouth, Bruce turned his death-glare on him. Tipping his nose up, Damian used one disgusted finger to push away his full plate, and stood up gracefully to take leave of the room. 

That left Bruce and Clark, who took one look at each other, and sighed deeply. Well. At least Damian was learning.

\---

The fact that Tim had taken off to the Kent farm in the middle of the night to hang out with Kon (a fact that Clark learned when he frantically searched for their son who wasn't in his bed) made the apologies unnecessary, at least for this particular breakfast. 

Bruce had time off today before lunch, meaning that the two of them ended up curled on the couch in the home movie theatre, with The Princess Bride playing in the background. It was Dick's go-to movie when he was a kid, and the two of them liked it for background noise. It was a fond memory of easier times. Alfred had taken Damian with him grocery shopping, after Bruce had searched him for weapons, much to Damian's distaste. He seemed to be getting along better with Alfred now, at least. 

"You don't have to let him talk to you like that, you know," Bruce pointed out, carding a hand through Clark's hair. They lay facing each other, Bruce with his back to the TV and with his head again pillowed on Clark's arm. Their legs were tangled together, and it was obvious to the both of them that they'd missed this intimacy, of just being close. "The way he did at dinner yesterday. That's not okay."

Clark hummed. "Yeah. I don't really have any other way to deal with him, yet."

"He's not going to be nicer to you if you're a pushover and let him do whatever he wants."

"I know. I just... I feel like this is a phase, y'know? That he'll grow out of wanting to make snide comments and barbs, and when he does, I don't want resentment to linger because I snapped at him."

"He's nine. He'll forget."

"I doubt it. I'm already a man-stealing whore to him. Don't need it to get any worse than that," Clark mused.

Bruce rose up on his side so he could look down on Clark instead of from the side, intense look on his face. "He called you that."

Clark shrugged. "Well. He's a kid, and his parents aren't together, which his mom has said is because of me. I've been called worse things by worse people. He's just being mean because he wants to hurt me."

"You shouldn't be okay with that. If any of the other kids said that, you'd be on them about it until they apologized. Even Jase wouldn't have gotten away with that, and we let him run his foul mouth a lot." 

"Well, what do you want me to do then?" Clark asked, irritated. It wasn't like he could control Damian's opinion of him. 

"Tell him that he hurt you and that he needs to apologize for it."

"Oh yes. Admitting I'm hurt. That's going to help," Clark snapped, pulling his arm out from under Bruce's head.   
Immediately, Bruce's arms shot out to capture him, pressing close. " _No_. No leaving. We're talking about this," he said, sounding almost desperate.

Clark froze. "I just... Wanted to sit up and talk to you."

"No," Bruce said, factually. Clark suppressed a chuckle. 

"No?"

" _No_."

Clark dropped back down on his back with a smile on his face, dragging his grumbling partner onto his chest. "Okay. What do you think I should do, that _won't_ get Damian to laugh in my face?"

Bruce pursed his lips in displeasure, but thought for a moment. "I... Don't know. He doesn't seem to have a lot of empathy. I don't know if he cares that he hurt you, or if that was just exactly what he wanted. I don't like that about him. It's... hard for me to believe that he's even mine, a lot of the time."

Clark stroked his hand over Bruce's back to soothe his partner. "He's just a little lost. A little missguided. And he doesn't know it, really. You know Ra's and Talia are..."

"Psychopaths?" Clark tipped his head from side to side, considering. Bruce patted his chest reassuringly. "It's fine. You can call them psychopaths. They are. They don't feel any remorse for what they're doing, ever. Trust me."

"Okay. Fine. So, he's been raised by psychopaths. Kids are pretty much playing monkey-see-monkey-do, those first few years. Remember when Dick tried out having a british accent like Alfred for a few weeks when he was like eleven? Or Jason, popping his wrist like you do, since pretty much the moment he came to live with us? Damian is just... parroting. Word-vomiting what he knows to reaffirm his values. If we just... don't do that, I think that's a good start for him. I don't think making him apologize to me is going to help." 

Bruce frowned, popping his wrist with a little twist with his thinking face on. "Okay. I don't like that, though. That means he continues to hurt you. At least he wants my approval. Don't know why he thinks he's going to get it from upsetting you and shouting at Tim. I can work with that need though, I suppose."

"It's fine. I've suffered worse hurts. I think Alfred's also a good influence, so far. He's the only one who doesn't flinch at Damian's scorn, and who's good at gently reprimanding him. I think he's really taken to the kid. Maybe it was good that Tim took off, though. Those two probably shouldn't be left alone for long."

Bruce snorted. "No, you're probably right. Did you see Tim and his fork yesterday? I was concerned we'd have to call Leslie about a possible stab wound."

"Gosh. I would've grabbed him before he could do that, you know."

Humming, Bruce leaned down to press a kiss to Clark's forehead. "Yes, Kal. I trust you to keep our kids safe." 

Clark beamed up at his partner's shining eyes, pressing kisses to his cheeks, all the while hiking Bruce's thigh up a bit on his leg. "Yeah. I love you."

"I love you too," Bruce breathed, fitting his hand around Clark's jaw to tilt him just so for a kiss. 

\---


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy with all the comments from last chapter, you guys are so sweet!!! Thank you for wanting to read my silly stories, it really makes my whole dang week lol!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

His partner was still asleep in their bed after a rough patrol when Clark came down the stairs, on his way to the kitchen to grab a cup of joe before Alfred could come and make snooty faces at his coffee machine. Walking by the intricate glass doors leading into the winter garden, Clark saw that there was a crack between the two doors, barely noticable if you didn't look hard. Focusing his hearing on the outside, he relaxed. 

Nudging the door open, Clark expected to see Damian asleep under the table or something, but he was on the floor next to the wicker furniture set, a notebook open in front of him. When he stepped inside, Damian's head snapped up, and he turned to glare at Clark. 

"What do you want?" 

Clark held his hands up. "Sorry. Just wanted to check who was out here. It's pretty nice, this early in the morning. Some days, when the smog isn't that bad, you can see the sunrise from here."

Damian glanced out of the windows of the winter garden, where the sky was muddy grey at the moment. Some rays of sun was shining through, but not enough to heat up the glass room just yet. "Smog? They're clouds."

"Yeah, clouds of smog. Don't know why, but Gotham has a lot of it. It's the New Jersey-ness of it that gets me," he smiled. Damian raised an eyebrow. "New Jersey has often been called the Armpit of America. It's just funny to me that Gotham is dark, damp and hairy."

Damian sniffed. "Juvenile."

Clark shoved his hands into the pockets on his robe. It matched Bruce's navy blue one, but his had maroon stripes. He'd gotten it for their five year anniversary, his initials monogrammed on his chest, like it wasn't ostentatious as all get out. "Sometimes, people use juvenile humor to process awful things. Such as the fact that Gotham is constantly dark, wet and dreary. At least the smog and the pollution make the sunrises and sunsets look gorgeous. A silver lining, if you will."

Damian snorted, looking back down at the page in front of him, filled with intricate doodles. "Gotham is _not_ wet or damp. This is nothing."

Clark inched closer, trying to take a sneak-peek at what was scribbled in his little book. "You haven't been here in the summer heat yet. It's on the same longitude as Spain, and a lot of Middle Eastern countries, and the smog makes it even hotter. Do you like to draw, Damian?"

He slapped his notebook shut, sitting up. "None of your business."

Touchy subject, it seemed. "I was just asking. I do want to get to know you better. It's a little strange to be in the same house and not even know anything about each other. I like drawing, though I'm not very good at it. I do better with sculpting, and I really liked oil paints at one point." 

Fluidly rolling to his feet, Damian tucked his leather binder under his arm and stepped out of the room. "I don't care."

"I like the way you made that bird. Did you use charcoal or pencils?" Clark inquired politely, following a few steps behind as Damian walked into the kitchen. 

When Damian tipped his nose up like that, like the haughty little prince he was, he looked simultaneously like his real age and like such a spoiled brat. "Any common plebian could tell it was made with pencils." Oh, Clark saw why this kid rattled Tim's cage so much. 

"Ah, sorry, you're entirely right. I only got a little glimpse, though it was very nice. Have you ever used watercolor pencils? I know they're more common in Europe than here in America."

Damian paused by the kitchen island, like he was considering Clark's question, examining it from every angle. "I have. I don't like the way they look."

Clark nodded, leaning against the other side of the kitchen island, which it would seem like Damian preferred. "It's not for everybody. They're spectacular for Gotham sunsets, though. I think it's easier to blend all the crazy colors when it's watercolor. Though Bruce claims nothing beats one particular set of natural paints he used on one of his trips, which I say is bull if he can't even show me what he made with them."

"Father paints?" Damian asked, his voice filled with scorn but his little face was filled with a particularly rapturous greed, like he wanted all knowledge he could have about Bruce. Yeah, that added up. He cast his hearing out over the rest of the house, just to check up, only to find Bruce's heartbeat closer than expected. 

"On occasion, though he claims it brings back bad memories of anger management classes he took undercover in... Arizona, I think it was?"

"It was California and you know it," came Bruce's offended voice from behind him, and Clark grinned, turning his head to look at the love of his life, standing there barefoot and with rumpled hair. "I hate your circadian rhythm. I'm going to figure out a way to disrupt it one day."

"Right, it was the hippie part of Cali. And you keep saying that, as if you haven't had all the time in the world to figure out how to do that," Clark teased, holding a hand out. Bruce took it, and used his free hand to scrub at his own face in annoyance. He didn't like to be reminded that Clark woke up with the sun, generally, and that he didn't like to sleep without his personal space heater.

"Good morning, Damian," Bruce said. "Why are you awake so early? Is your jetlag acting up?"

Damian shrugged, watching their entangled hands with distaste. "I suppose it is."

"You should've told me," Bruce said, in that wonderfully accusing way he always managed to use when he was worried. 

"If you'd have come nudged either of us, we would've helped," Clark amended. 

"What were you supposed to do?" Damian asked, baffled by the mere suggestion that he couldn't do something on his own, that he'd need help. "Drug me?"

"What? No," Clark hurried out. "No, we'd sit with you, turn on the tv, maybe read with you. You shouldn't have to roam the halls like a ghost just because you can't sleep. I know I get enough of that from Tim."

Damian sneered at even the mere mention of his name, and Bruce sighed. "Stop making that face. Have you reflected on why you want to make Tim strangle you?"

"Like I'd let that usurper close enough for that!" Damian scoffed. 

"That's not an answer."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Damian remained mulishly silent. 

Clark sighed, and stood up to fix himself some coffee. "That's your brother, you know. Your sibling. He's not a usurper. He's not in your way, or anything else you might have told yourself. He's your brother. That's something you're going to have to get used to. Biological parents have nothing to do with this, anymore. We took care of Tim, of Dick, when they needed it, and acted as their parents. It made them comfortable enough to call us that. You can have more than one set of parents, Damian, and more than one set of siblings. You don't have to like it, but that's how it is."

Damian pursed his lips nastily. "My brother?"

"Yes," Bruce agreed. "If you could see past your prejudices against him, that's what you could be. And that _face_ , the one you're making right now-" He pointed to the disgusted look twisting Damian's features. "I don't want to see it anymore. Ever. In this family, we talk things out. We don't hide our opinions of each other behind snotty faces. I'm going to start with addressing the homophobia: Clark is my partner. My equal. Any offence you cause him, you cause _me_. Clark's not going away just because you don't like him. You need to recognize that you're not with the league anymore, Damian. This isn't exactly a conservative, normative household, and I want you to acknowledge that here and now. Any problem with that?"

"It's disgusting," Damian spat, and Bruce squeezed the bridge of his nose, hard. Clark grimaced, and thought dreamily of having just stayed in bed, but knew that this was a conversation that needed to happen, however painful it would be.

"What about it are you exposed to that you find disgusting? The genuine love and caring? I can't do anything about that. _You_ can't do anything about that. In this instance, it's last in, last out, Damian. I have taken you into our home with some stipulations, all of which you have so far ignored. I've let it slide because you need time to adjust to your new reality, which of course is hard, but the more you fight me on this, the less inclined I am to keep you here."

"Bruce," Clark said warningly. 

"I don't want to be here!" Damian shouted. The Waynes were locked in a staring contest of epic proportions across the kitchen island, green sea on blue ice, immovable object vs unstoppable force. Oh, Alfred was hopefully up already, or else he would be by the end of this row. "I hate it here! I don't want to see you kiss another man on the mouth ever again, and I don't want your beds or your food or your pity!"

Bruce took a deep breath. "It's not pity. Nothing about this is pity. It's obligation. As much as I dislike your mother, you're mine, too. And that means there's good in you, too. It's just a question of how deep that runs. You're as much a Wayne as an al Ghul, and that's not something either of us can escape, Damian."

"I don't want to be an object of your obligation! I can take care of myself!"

"Yeah? Then, if I let you go off on your own, what are you going to do? Run back to your mom? She put you here to keep you safe. You think she'll be happy that you've disobeyed her orders? Or if you just run off by yourself, where will you go? Nobody's going to let a ten-year-old so much as look at a hotel room without a parent. We're at a stalemate, Damian. You tell me your plans, and if they sound reasonable and like you'd manage to take care of yourself, I'll help you pack your bags."

"But you don't even think I could care for myself in the first place," Damian said slowly. Bruce hummed his agreement. "That's-" 

He pinched his mouth shut, like he finally realized what Bruce was saying. Damian glared at Bruce, murder in his eyes. It was probably the angriest he'd been in the whole time he'd been here, and Bruce seemed entirely unaffected, waiting on Damian's reply like there was some reasonable argument he could dredge up. 

"Fine," Damian hissed, grabbed his notebook, and ran off right past Bruce, who sank down onto a barstool and put his face in his hands. There was the loud slamming of Damian's bedroom door from the floor above, and Clark sighed.   
He slid a finished cup of red tea over the kitchen island to his partner. "Give him time," he said, like a mantra. "Give him some more time, babe."

"I should've pulled my punches," Bruce muttered, taking a sip of tea without even looking, much to Clark's pleasure. "Hope at least some of it got- Hey. Where's my caffeine?"

"You're going back to sleep," Clark declared. "I just thought the warm water would make you sleepier."

Bruce made his frowny face at Clark, who only smiled, stroking a fond hand down his stubbly cheek. "I'm not going to bed again."

"Oh, come on. You've gotten, what, four hours of sleep? At most."

"No." At Clark's raised eyebrows, Bruce tipped his head from side to side. "Five." 

"See? You could use some more, that's for sure." When Bruce still looked untempted, Clark leaned closer, tugging on the belt for Bruce's robe, just playfully, without any intention of unraveling it. "Come on. If I jump, you jump?" Bruce grumbled, but let himself be guided back upstairs, his eyes lingering on Damian's door when they passed it. 

That was becoming a problem as well, Clark thought as he let Bruce wrap himself around his partner under their expensive sheets. Bruce and Damian just seemed to rub each other the wrong way at every turn. Bruce isn't the magical warrior Damian was expecting, and Damian isn't the kind, caring son Bruce would want to raise. He doesn't listen to Clark, doesn't tolerate Tim, and only barely lets Alfred talk to him. 

He hoped Dick would have better luck than the lot of them. 

\---

The one thing their new little guest seemed to enjoy, was the cave's impressive gym. Bruce stayed home with him, and studied his technique, argued with him about pretty much everything, but kept him contained and relatively entertained, at least. Ace didn't like him very much, and mostly slept in her bed underneath the computer table, eyeing Damian suspiciously. With Tim at school, Clark felt comfortable enough to leave them alone and go to work, though he kept anxiously glancing at his phone. 

It was probably why he was already riled up when the phone rang. He jerked in his seat, and swiped too fast for his phone to register it, so he shook his head at himself, and calmed down enough to answer the call. "Hey, Ma," he sighed when he saw who the caller was.

"Clark," came Ma's soft voice through the receiver. "Now don't you get wound up when you hear what I have to say."

"What? Ma, are you alright?" he asked, already sliding his chair back and looking around to see if his co-workers were paying any attention to him, ready to fly to her.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. What'd I just tell you, silly boy? You goin' deaf before I am?" she said impatiently but at the same low volume, just as Clark cast out his hearing. Her heartbeat was steady, if a little speedier than usual. He gasped at another familiar sound reaching his ears. "Goodness. I'm guessing you're hearing what I'm hearing, huh?"

" _Jason's_ with you?" Clark whisped, cradling the phone against his face. "How? When?"

"Well, he turned up on the farm, helped with some chores, and fell asleep on the couch. Sweet baby boy," Ma murmured, and there was the sound of a little smooch, like she'd kissed Jason's forehead. 

Clark's heart warmed at Ma getting to see Jason alive and in the flesh again. He closed his eyes, remembering Jason at eleven years old and unfamiliar with anything that wasn't skyscrapers and alleyways, gaping at the cornfields, eating almost a whole pie of Ma's on his own, and falling alseep with his head on her lap, with sticky berry filling still clinging to the corners of his mouth. He imagined Jason as he was now, broad-shouldered and crammed onto the couch, just to rest his head on Ma's lap. 

"He's tall now. Almost didn't recognize him 'til he spoke," she murmured.

Clark ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah. Yeah, he's taller than B now, I'm pretty sure. Has he...said anything? Is he hurt?"

"He's all right. He's said nothing out of the ordinary. Just that he wanted to help. Bess recognized him, alright, and Sapphire and Ruby too. He doesn't ride as well as he did when he was a little beansprout, though." The cow Jason had made friends with as a boy, and their two horses. Not unusual that Jason would prefer their company to humans.

"It's all about getting back up in the saddle," Clark joked, making Ma snort. "Anything about how long he's staying?"

"As long as he dang well wants," she declared. "Kon can pump up the air-mattress in his room, so Jase doesn't break his neck on the couch." 

Clark nodded to himself, taking a shaky breath. "Thanks, Ma. _Thank you_."

"Of course. He's _my_ grandkid, isn't he? Don't worry your head about it. Just wanted you to know where he was. Maybe keep the rest of the kids in Gotham, to give him some space. Is Dick home yet?"

"No. He'll be here soon, though. It'll be nice to have so many of the kids home."

"It is. Want me to send Kon over?" Ma asked, still in that soft tone. Trying not to wake Jason up. Surprisingly, it seemed like he was sleeping through it, even though he twitched at every sound when he was awake. 

Clark could almost cry at how happy he was that Jason still had that, could still find peace in his grandma's arms. That, even when they'd screwed up immeasurably, they'd still managed to give him something of value, something he treasured and trusted so much that he could relax, let someone else take over.

"Depends. How's he dealing with Jason?" Clark questioned. 

"Fine. A little petty because Tim doesn't like him, but Jason's just his kind of guy. He'll warm up in a day or two. Speaking of Tim, it seems like Bruce's kid is giving him hell," she said, her tone mild but chastising. 

Clark sighed. "He's troublesome, yeah. Driving everyone up the wall. We're trying our best, but it's hard. He doesn't really want to be with us. Can't really bribe him with anything like we could with Dick, or rely on his dedication to the cause like with Tim. Don't think Kon would handle him very well, either, since Damian already hates me just for existing." 

Ma hummed softly, and Jason made a questioning noise in his sleep. There was the rasp of her rough, work-hardened hands catching on Jason's hair as she brushed it back. "I got you, Jase. Go back to sleep." He shifted a bit, making the couch squeak, and then he let out a soft little breath. "Sounds like a real rascal, that kid. Don't worry, you'll get him in order. Can't grow if you don't have some rain."

"It's a lot of rain so far, Ma," Clark said, but he appreciated her positive attitude. He doubted Damian would respect her, or else he'd invite her to their home too, for the contrast. And it was always nice how much reverence Bruce treated his mom with, and always had, especially when you put their personalities and backgrounds in contrast. Not surprising, just... nice. 

"Well. I'm keeping another one of your rainclouds with me, for now. Give the family my best. Love you."

"Will do. Love you too," Clark said, leaning his elbows on his desk when the line clicked. He put his phone down, took a deep breath, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, wishing he could get rid of the headache looming behind his temples.

\---

"Date night. Tonight," Bruce said, slamming his newspaper down on the dinner table, making the breakfast cutlery closest to him rattle. Clark looked up from his book, eyebrows raised. "No buts."

"Aw, I was hoping there would be," Clark smirked. Bruce rolled his eyes, but entangled their fingers on the table. "Where are we going, then?"

"That, Kal," Bruce murmured, standing up to pull Clark to his feet, "is a secret."

"A secret?" he hummed as he was pulled into an impromptu waltz around their dining room. "That's exciting. Are you working tonight?"

"No. The Birds of Prey have agreed to cover my areas for the night," Bruce revealed. Clark almost tripped on his feet, just looking at his partner's luminous eyes, the crinkles out in full force, like he knew exactly how excited that'd make him. 

"Really?" Clark beamed, letting himself be led around the room in a slow little turn. "And no comms on?"

"J'onn is informed to contact us only as an absolute last resort, and yes, Diana is assigned temporary team leader. I...I trust Oracle to do what's best for Gotham, and will leave my comm home as well," Bruce said with great flourish. 

Clark gaped, his head spinning with possibilites. "All of tonight, huh? And you've made plans, I'm sure." 

His partner hummed, his hand warm on Clark's hip and his body close. "Yes. Yes, I have. You know me so well."

"Well," Clark said, feeling his face flush at Bruce's intense look. "You sure know how to make a fella feel cherished."

Pressing a sweet kiss to Clark's cheek, Bruce trailed kisses down his neck, humming as he did. "That was the plan. I _can_ tell you what the plans for the end of the evening are, though. That's no secret, I think we can both agree."

Bruce dipped him, making Clark laugh at the ridiculousness of the two of them wrapped around each other like this in their dining room. As such, he was far too focused on his partner to notice the approaching footsteps. Bruce was rapturous, wanting to lick the laughter from Clark's lips, and how was he supposed to resist this amazing man?

Tim gasped as he turned the corner, slapping a hand over his eyes. The sound made both of them tense up, though Clark was the only one with good enough view over Bruce's shoulder to see Tim's ears turn red. "Jeeze. B, please."

Bruce let out a little breath which would, with anyone else, constitute as a huge, dramatic sigh. He un-dipped Clark, who shook his head at Tim's embarrassment, even though his own ears had started to pink for the same reason.

"We're healthy, consensual adults, Tim-"

Tim dropped down into Dick's usual seat like a bag of bricks, crossing his arms on the table and dunking his head on them, interrupting Clark. "Oh god. Please don't remind me you have sex. I don't want to think about it."

Bruce rolled his eyes, but sat back down again. "If you're thinking about it, that's not our problem."

Clark remained standing, rubbing a hand over Bruce's shoulder with a smile on his face, and Bruce took his other hand and planted a kiss on the back of it. "Don't scar the kids, Bruce."

"Too late," Tim muttered, his fingers scratching against the table cloth as he stretched the impossible distance to reach the coffee pot. _The lady doth protest too much, methinks_ , Clark thought, and wiggled his eyebrows at Bruce, who made a considering face. 

"Any plans for the weekend, Tim?" Clark asked. 

"Mm. Homework. Young Justice for the weekend. Maybe help Dick with whatever Titans stuff is keeping him away. He hasn't been here for like... two months. You guys know that, right?"

"He's been busy," Bruce agreed.

Tim finally managed to grasp the coffee pot, and he pulled it towards himself, sitting up a little further to pour it into his mug. Bruce poured a glass of orange juice and placed it right next to Tim's other hand. "I guess. You guys used to have mandatory dinners though, didn't you?"

"In a time where Dick and Bruce probably would've just never spoken again if I hadn't intervened, yeah. And then he just came around a lot when Jason was here, usually to play with him. Jason with that gameboy of his..." Clark trailed off, lost in thought. 

Bruce hummed. "Whenver he... whenever Jase couldn't pass a level, he'd always ask me to try for him."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Huh. What games?"

"Oh, what was that game called again?" Bruce asked Clark, who sat down with a little smile at Tim's considering face when he took a big gulp of his coffee. Yes, Jason had been a kid once, too.

"Legend of Zelda, mostly. I think Dick convinced him to play Super Mario Land too after a while. And some other games. But Zelda was the favorite. Right after reading."

"And playing with Ace," Bruce added, wrapping Tim's hand around the glass of OJ, much to Tim's annoyance. 

"Yes yes, I'm drinking. Where's _your_ glass of orange juice?"

"I'm not a still-growing teenager," Bruce countered, eyes narrowing. "Drink your vitamin C."

Tim scoffed, but took a dramatic sip of the orange juice, looking at Bruce like _are you happy now?_ "So what embarrassing stuff did Dick do as a kid?"

Bruce and Clark looked at each other, and Bruce shook his head. This certainly piqued Tim's interest. Clark pressed his lips together to hide his smile, while Bruce pressed two fingers to his temple. "A lot of things, Tim. None of which I'm sure he'd appreciate hearing about again."

Tim's eyes lit up like they hadn't in quite a while. "Oh, come on. You can't say that sort of thing and not even share a little tidbit. That's not even close to fair. You want your parenting to be fair and equal, don't you?"

"Dial it down," Clark warned. "You want us to discuss that time you fell into that manhole?"

Immediately, his lips turned down. "I thought we'd gotten over that," he hissed, looking over his shoulder as if he was worried Damian would be around the corner. 

"I'd forgotten about that," Bruce said, mirth in his eyes as he stared off into the distance. "You really stepped into it like something straight out of a cartoon. I don't think I've ever seen you that surprised in your entire life."

"It was a danger that there weren't even any signs anywhere! We should've sued their asses," Tim raged, obviously mortified, considering the pink tinge to his cheeks. When Bruce's lips actually cracked into a smile with teeth, Tim groaned. "No, nope, we're stopping this conversation right now. It's too early for this anxiety bullshit."

"Language. And if you don't want anxiety in the morning, put down that coffee first. You know what it does to you," Clark pointed out, still smiling as he picked his book up again. "Don't ask us to retell funny stories about our kids, because you're the most recent, go-to memory, sweetheart. What time do you want me to be ready to go, B?"

Bruce considered that, rubbing his fingers over his stubble as Tim grumbled and grabbed some pancakes off a plate.

"Five-thirty would be good. Casual clothes."

"Oh, really? Bruce Wayne, slumming it with the casual people? I'm in for a ride tonight, huh," Clark teased, and Bruce turned dark, suggestive eyes on him. Tim groaned in exasperation again, but didn't say anything. 

\--- 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little extra long, to celebrate the fact that it's Halloween!!! And a full moon!! And a blue moon!! (also I accidentally wrote waaaay too much when I was trying to flesh this chapter out lol whoopsies!)  
> A little warning about canon typical violence. Damian has a sword. You get the gist.   
> Thank you guys SO much for the engagement in the comments!!! You guys make me so happy!!  
> Happy Halloween! Hope you enjoy! <3

Bruce's car stopped, and his hand landed on Clark's thigh. 

"You can undo the blindfold now," Bruce said quietly, close to Clark's ear. He shivered, and tugged on the silk tie around his eyes, blinking into the gloom of a Gotham evening in fall. 

"A pumpkin patch?" Clark chuckled, glancing at the large, cartoon pumpkin sign saying "Roba Family Farm" in the distance. The parking lot around them was pretty packed, and families with kids followed the winding, muddy trails leading towards the entrance. Despite the darkness, the area with the actual farm was lit up with twinkle lights and the occasional spotlight, and through the car's windshield, it looked warm and inviting, like a little oasis. 

"And a corn maze, and a fall market, and they have live music tonight," Bruce said, the glint in his eyes suggesting he was more than a little proud of himself for thinking of this. "I thought we could have a nice night, take our time strolling around and enjoying being all alone."

"That does sound wonderful," Clark agreed, taking Bruce's hand on his thigh and pressing a kiss to it. "I like any time I get to have with you."

Despite his earlier confidence, the tension wrinkles around Bruce's mouth visibly relaxed a little at Clark's agreement to his idea, his smile a smidge wider and easier. He let out a soft breath of a laugh. "Yes. I enjoy that with you, too."

"I definitely didn't bring the right shoes for this muck, though," Clark said, glancing down at his neat sneakers, the ones he'd recently washed to be able to wear them out in polite company again. 

"Ah, don't worry," Bruce said, taking his hand back only to stretch behind Clark's seat to grab something, and pulling out a dark box. "I had planned for this eventuality." 

Popping the lid open, Clark was treated to the sight of sturdy, fancy boots in dark leather, real leather from the smell of it. Never say Bruce ever did anything by halves. "You couldn't have just told me to change at home?" Clark grinned, smoothing his finger down the stylish detailing on the side. 

"Well, no. Then I wouldn't get to shower you in gifts," Bruce protested. "Where's the point in that?"

Shaking his head at his partner, he pressed a decidedly grateful kiss to Bruce's plush mouth, and then began unlacing the sneakers to pull the boots on. "You know, I just washed these."

Bruce twisted in his seat to watch him shimmy out of his shoes and into the new boots. "Hmm. Yes. They're nice. _You're_ nice."

Despite himself, his partner's adorable, awkward compliments made Clark blush. Thankfully, it was too dim lighting for Bruce to see. "Stop it, or we're never getting out of this car."

"Why, Mr. Kent! Are you planning on getting us arrested for indecent exposure?" Bruce wiggled his eyebrows, making Clark laugh and shake his head.

"God, don't even say it. That'd be the most embarrassing thing. Who would we even call to bail us out of jail?"

Bruce considered that, pressing his lips together. "Clark, I can post our bail, and probably pay whatever fine we end up getting. We don't need to call anyone."

Clark tilted his head, eyeing his partner in his dark turtleneck, grey coat and perfectly styled hair. He was looking pretty casual, at least for being Bruce. The way he raised his eyebrow at Clark's silence was also crazy hot, and probably always would manage to get him hot under the collar. He considered mussing Bruce up a little, but then shook himself out of it. "No, we're not going to do it in a car with a bunch of families with kids running right by. We're grown men, not teenagers necking at make-out point." 

Bruce hummed. "You considered it for a second, though."

When Clark only grumbled and got out of the car, Bruce chuckled, but hurried to follow. He'd only managed a few steps ahead of his partner before Bruce linked their arms together, so that they could still keep their hands in their pockets to guard them from the chilly nip in the air. 

The pumpkin patch was crawling with people, taking pictures with their heads in wooden cut outs, perusing the fall market, or going on the hayride around the pumpkin patch. Mostly it was families with young kids, but Clark saw more than one couple holding hands, a laughing group of teenagers jumping on haybales and taking pictures together. 

"We should've brought the kids for this," Clark said, smiling at the wide-eyed toddler being bounced on his mom's hip a few feet away from them. 

"We'll bring them when Dick gets home, if we like this place. This night's for you and me only," Bruce said, his fingers brushing against Clark's jaw to turn his head for a soft kiss. "Now, Kansas, where do we want to start?"

Glancing around, Clark considered that, and steered them in the direction of the fall market. Nothing like a little hot cider to get warmed up. They perused the selection of items, and Clark talked to a lot of the stall owners, his Kansas drawl coming out the more he did, much to Bruce's amusement. He hid his smile behind his mug of hot cider, but he watched as Clark animatedly complained about how city folks couldn't appreciate the work that went into a good, big squash to the fiercely nodding woman on the other side of the table. Bruce bought a few of her smaller, ornamental pumpkins, sure that Alfred could make them into a decoration of sorts. 

Clark bought a pair of gardening gloves for Alfred, or rather Bruce bought at his partner's request, and a little farmers calendar for Ma. He also found a leather bracelet with braided details for Kon, and while Clark was occupied with taking a picture of a family out of the kindness of his heart, Bruce bought a matching one for Clark, as well. 

By the time Bruce was on his third hot cider, they'd perused the whole market, and had a whole reusable bag of little goodies slung over his shoulder. 

They stood and watched the live band sing country songs, shoulder-to shoulder. When Clark looked over, Bruce's attention was focused on the little stage set up in the grass, but the twinkle lights reflected in his eyes, as his breath misted in the air. He admired Bruce's profile, his strong jaw. His partner was really beautiful, and very sweet for initiating date night again. 

"Hey," Clark said, having to let out the warmth gathering in his chest. Bruce turned his head, raising an eyebrow at him in question. "I love you."

Bruce's smile was slow, and soft. He pressed a kiss to Clark's cheekbone, lingering by his ear to whisper "I love you too, Kal."

Clark beamed at his partner. It never stopped being thrilling to hear those words from him, no matter what. They continued to listen to the soft strumming of guitars and the singer's sweet voice, just basking in each other's presence.

When the song was over, they clapped, and then Bruce tugged on his partner's hand to get his attention. "We should go in the maze next. C'mon." 

"You just want to show off," Clark complained, but let himself be guided over to the maze. "You could probably find your way through this blindfolded."

"If it was you who dragged me into a corn maze, you'd say that that isn't the _point_ ," Bruce remarked, getting a blank map, save for one section, from an attendant in a bright orange sweater. 

"And the point is, then?"

"Well, I believe you would say that the point is to have fun," Bruce teased, entangling their fingers and nudging Clark into the maze. 

"I suppose I could be convinced," he agreed, tugging on their hands to get Bruce to stay by his side as they took to the right. 

It was a nice little maze, if a little creepy, but Bruce looked perfectly comfortable in the shadows of the gently swaying corn, letting Clark point in the wrong direction and following him instead of pointing out that it was the wrong way. They almost walked right into two teenagers having their first kiss in one of the dead ends of the maze, until Bruce hip-checked Clark in the other direction. 

They were enjoying being by themselves, but Clark still had half an ear out for the manor as they walked around, because it was the first time they'd left the kids with only Alfred around. The fact that he was focusing on Damian's calm heartbeat as they searched for the last station containing the last piece of the map, was the only reason he heard the soft unsheathing of a katana.

Clark stopped in his tracks, immediately focusing his entire hearing on the manor. He heard Alfred's soft breathing, and Tim's fingers tapping on the computer embedded in his gauntlet, and the whoosh of Damian swinging his katana in the air before he sheathed it again. 

"Drake," he called, his voice hard like his blade, as his feet dashed silently over what was probably the cave floor. 

"What?" Tim answered. 

"Where are you going?"

"Out. Not your business, kiddo. Go back upstairs with Alfred." 

"Kal," came Bruce's insistent voice, and Clark blinked him back into focus. He hated seeing Bruce's tender smile dim at the look on his face. "What's the matter?"

"It's probably fine. No emergency or anything." At Bruce's unconvinced look, Clark shook his head. "I'm keeping an ear on it. Don't worry. I got it."

"Hmm. I don't like that," Bruce remarked, and Clark pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

"You never do, dear. Isn't that the last map-piece?" Bruce linked their arms again, steering Clark towards it as he listened to the manor again. 

"-not your business. You have no right to speak to me this way."

"Says who?" Tim scoffed. "Honestly, Damian, it's not about seniority or anything. You just...don't come from any single source we trust. Like, at all. And the fact that you're such a crazy brat really doesn't help. Clark at least is trying to help you, and all you do when greeted with that kindness is make him feel like shit. Which is shit of _you_ to do."

"You will understand, in time. You might as well give in now."

"Get a grip, will you? Why are you acting like such a jerk anyways?"

"Because you don't deserve any of this. You didn't fight like I did, didn't do what I've done to deserve this. But when you're gone, I'll take my rightful place at my father's side." 

That was ominous. Tim laughed incredulously. "What are you even talking about, you weirdo?"

"Bruce? We have to go, like now," Clark said, gripping Bruce's arm in a firm manner. 

Bruce's face shifted into his Batman face. "What's happening?"

"The kids. I have a bad feeling," Clark said. "Confirmed by Damian being very creepy. Trust me on this."

Bruce looked around, and shoved his way through the corn when he could see no other patrons. Luckily, they were pretty close to the edge of the maze, and they pushed out into the open field. "There. Speed us to that copse of trees and we can fly from there."

Clark didn't question his partner, dashing over to the trees out of sight. Well there, he adjusted his grip on Bruce and sped homeward, as fast as he could with a human passenger. At least Bruce closed his eyes and protected their little bag. 

They arrived in the cave and Bruce began running up the stairs towards them, but it all happened so fast. The flash of metal in the light of the fluorescents was all the warning they got. 

What Clark saw was a threat to his kid, and he reacted accordingly. He pulled Tim out of the way just as Damian swung his blade. It cut clean through the front panel of the Robin suit, leaving a thin, bloody rasp over Tim's stomach. If Clark hadn't pulled him back, Damian would've _gutted_ him.

When Damian shifted his weight on his feet, like he was preparing to move, Clark's eyes snapped up from Tim's wound, pulling his boy back. "You stay _right there_ , Damian," he commanded in his Superman voice.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Bruce exclaimed, his eyebrows down and his jaw clenched as he approached them on the platform. "What- what did you think you were going to accomplish? _Explain yourself_."

"You said he was my rival. He's not your real son. _I_ am! It's my right to replace him. That's how it works in the Assassin's League," Damian said, his voice fierce.

"I said he was your brother! And this isn't your _league_ , it's the real world!" Bruce roared, his eyes flaming with fury as he stared Damian down.

"Tim, keep pressure on your wound for me," Clark murmured as he scooped him up, hurrying over to the med bay to dial for Alfred. 

"It's how I was taught!" Damian shouted.

"Li'l creep," Tim muttered as Clark put him down on a cot. "Must've done somethn' to Alf... Why wassn't B csselibate before you."

"Don't ask me to answer that, sweetheart," Clark said, with the phone pressed to one ear and some speedy bandages pressed to Tim's whole front.

"Don' be silly, wrap your willy," Tim said, in all seriousness. 

Clark frowned. "Did he put something on that blade?"

"Maybe," Tim groaned, his head lolling back against the pillow. "Fucking Al-Ghuls and their poisonssss."

Jamming the phone between his ear and his shoulder, Clark grabbed rubbing alcohol and some paper to clean Tim's wound as thoroughly as he could. Bruce had always insisted he learn first aid, despite being notoriously bad at getting injured, and now it was coming in handy. Alfred wasn't picking up, and Clark focused on the butler's slow, calm heartbeat upstairs. 

"Tim, hold this." Tim fumbled with the bandages, pressing his fingers against the bloody spots as Clark peeked out into the main area of the cave.

Bruce's volume had lowered to a rumble that rolled like thunder, the most dangerous of his tempers. Clark dashed by, finding Alfred loose-limbed and slumped over in a kitchen chair with a cup of tea next to him. 

Despite hearing his heartbeat, Clark rested his thumb against Alfred's aging wrist, and feeling the thump-thump of his pulse, just to make sure. Maneuvering Alfred into a bridal carry wasn't very hard, at least not physically. Watching the old man knocked out was awful, and carrying his limp body felt... too reminiscent of other bodies he'd had to carry out. The hair at the back of his neck stood up as he rushed through the clock, floating down the steps when thinking about where he was putting his feet got too nerve-wracking.

"-You will be given opportunities to prove yourself to me. Until then, _patience_ is a _virtue_!" Bruce shouted at full volume as he towered over Damian, who leaned back. Bruce stretched a hand out for Damian's katana, and when he didn't give it, Bruce disarmed him in a flash. One second the sword was in Damian's hand, the next it was in Bruce's. He swatted Damian's foot away like it was an annoying fly when the boy tried an offensive maneuver to get it back. "Go to your room. I don't want to see you until at least breakfast."

"Bruce," Clark said carefully, and Bruce turned his attention on the limp form of Alfred, his face paling. "He's just asleep, I think. What did you give him, Damian?"

Damian pursed his lips, obviously not very inclined to give any sort of answer right now. Bruce grabbed Damian's collar, staring into the nine-year-old's eyes. "Answer. Him."

Damian kept staring, his dark eyes unfathomable. Clark could see Bruce counting down from ten in his head, and could for once not predict what Bruce would do if Damian didn't give him the answer he needed. It was honestly terrifying, made the bottom drop out of his stomach just looking at the ice cold fury on Bruce's face.

"Here," Clark said, laying one of Alfred's limp arms over his shoulder. "Take Alfred into the infirmary for me please, and check on Tim. Maybe call Leslie too, for safety's sake."

Bruce let go of Damian to support Alfred, shifting the grip on Damian's katana in an eerily familiar way. He turned away without a single look at the child's face, shuffling over to the infirmary. 

Before Damian could flee, Clark grabbed his arm, only to get him to stop. Damian looked like he wanted to burn the shirt-fabric Clark was touching, so he let go. All he wanted was for Damian to _stop_.

"Whoah there, buddy. I am not done with you. Look, you _like_ Alfred," Clark stated. When Damian opened his mouth to protest, Clark shook his head. "Okay, you don't hate him with the same fervor as you hate everyone else who lives here, then. Whatever. He's still alive. You did that, at least, meaning you don't want him to die. I'm going to be frank with you, Damian: Alfred is old. There's no Lazarus pit waiting for him, when he's no longer feeling good enough to go on. Whatever you did to him can leave permanent damage if we can't treat it fast enough. Tell me what it is, please. I'm not begging for me, or your dad, but for Alfred. It's a miracle we've gotten to keep him this long, and we want that to continue."

He was met with the same unreadable eyes, but there was a slight tilt to his head, as if he was considering Clark's words. "Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid," he said finally after what felt like eons of silence, tipping his nose up as if now that he'd deigned to answer a question, Clark was in his debt. 

Still, Clark closed his eyes, and felt himself exhale. "Thank you, Damian. Now you can go to your room. And stay there, until we've decided how we're dealing with this."

The child turned on his heel, and stomped off up the stairs. 

When he arrived in the infirmary, Bruce was already using a cotton swab to gather some of the poison on Damian's blade. Clark relayed the information he'd been given, and Bruce rushed off to do his tests. Alfred had been hooked up to an EKG, probably just for monitoring, making sure he was still breathing and with them. 

Clark fussed around their two patients, getting them comfortable. Bruce came back with antagonists, and went about putting them both to rights, as best as he could. Tim's wound could be taped closed, at least, but it would probably sting a lot whenever he tried to move until it had healed. 

He caught Tim trying to work, despite not being able to focus his eyes on something. 

"You are way too loopy for that, mister," Clark said, disengaging Tim's gauntlet's security with a practiced hand and pulling it off, making Tim produce angry muttering noises. He leaned closer as he took the other gauntlet too. "Hey. Thank you for being a sweetheart to me, earlier."

Tim made a confused face, and then understanding hit. "Oh. Yeah. You made it here fast. Damian's a jerk. You deserve better."

Clark smiled sadly. "Thanks, Tim. It means a lot to me."

Looking away, Tim said, very quietly, "Love you, pop."

"We love you too, Timmy." Pressing a kiss to Tim's forehead, Clark righted himself, and turned his head to see that the ever-prevalent frown lines on Bruce's forehead had reappeared. 

"So much for reviving date night, huh?" Clark said as he brushed Tim's hair back. Bruce looked up from his tablet, and sighed. 

"We tried, at least. Can you go get the car tomorrow? I don't think..." Bruce's eyes drifted to Alfred's resting body, and Clark hurried to comfort him, pressed Bruce's face into his side and wrapped his arms around his partner. 

"Of course, baby, of course," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Bruce's head.

\---

The roar of a motorcycle as Clark was fixing Bruce's tea the next morning made his head snap up. Tilting his head to focus over the sound of the engine, Clark relaxed when he realized it was just Dick. Jason barging in right now would probably be a disaster of epic proportions, with how rattled Bruce was. 

Alfred had woken up during the night, and he probably wouldn't have any lasting effects. He'd only been seemingly annoyed that Damian had managed to give him the slip. Bruce had insisted he stay in bed for at least the rest of the day, and Clark and Tim backed him up, meaning that Alfred had huffed, but remained in bed. 

When Clark had joked about being like father, like son, Alfred had shot him a sharp, chastising look. Tim had laughed, at least, and then winced as that pulled on his wound. He'd recovered from the poisoning relatively quick, as Damian had probably counted on getting a deeper wound, and only used the poison as reassurance. He was still benched tonight though, much to his displeasure. 

Clark moved toward the entrance hall, leaving his and Bruce's tea on the kitchen island, just in time for Dick to jerk the handle, and when it wouldn't open, ring the doorbell. He unlocked the door, and couldn't help the smile on his face as Dick hopped into the room.

"Pop!" Dick said, obviously happy, if a little tired. Clark hugged him tight, bags over his shoulder and all, making Dick chuckle. "How's the old man? I've heard from Timmy that this new kid is really getting on his nerves. Where's Al, anyway? Why was the door locked?"

Clark let go of Dick, who dropped his duffle bags on the floor and closed the door behind himself. 

"Okay," Clark said, holding his hands up to stop Dick from barging on into the house. "I need you to know that we had an incident yesterday, so Alfred's in the infirmary. He's going to be fine, don't worry, we just want to keep him off his feet for now. Tim is also fine."

"Also fine?" Dick exclaimed. "Pop, what the hell is going on? How am I coming with crazy news only for you to give _me_ crazy news?"

"What kind of crazy news are you bringing?" Clark asked, bewildered, as Dick untied his shoes, shrugging out of his jacket and revealing a bright orange t-shirt with the Aquaman sigil on it. "It better not be that you're quitting Nightwing to become Aqualad."

Dick made a confused face, then looked down at his t-shirt and laughed. "It's Kaldur's. It ended up with my laundry, so now I've claimed it."

"Uh-huh," Clark said, with a teasing smile on his face. 

Dick face-palmed. "This is so not the most important thing right now! What happened yesterday?"

"Damian drugged Alfred and tried to kill Tim," Clark said. 

Dick gaped. "Jesus christ. Okay, about Damian: I popped by Ma on my way out here, and- actually, first of all, did you know that Jason's staying with her?"

"Yes."

He threw his hands in the air. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I haven't even told Bruce, honey. I was just happy that Jason was talking to somebody, that he could still be with family, even if he's mad at the rest of us."

"Yeah, well, he's talking to me too. When I told him I was going home because of Damian, he said, and I quote, _oh you finally found out about that_?" Dick exploded.

Clark gaped. "He... knew?"

"Apparently! I mean, I guess Talia had her claws in him at the same time as she had Damian around, but... Yeah. C'mon, we've gotta tell B."

"Don't you want something to eat first?" Clark suggested. "You can grab some cereal and I can finish making B's tea."

"Man, Alfred really is out of commision, isn't he?" Dick said in mock-astonishment, but he followed his pop into the kitchen, leaving his bags in the entrance way. 

"I know how to make tea without assistance, Dick. The question is if Bruce does," Clark tossed back. Dick busied himself with pulling out what he needed from the cupboard as Clark swirled the teabag around in the mug. 

"Oh, of course he does. He could make tea out of a pile of rocks and a single stick."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Oh yeah. Totally." Dick took such a big spoonful of cereal, Clark thought he was going to choke on it. Shaking his head, he grabbed both of their mugs. 

"C'mon. Let's go up. B will be happy to see you."

"In his own, special way, I'm sure," Dick agreed, following him up the stairs and gnawing on his spoon as he did. 

Clark let them into the study, where Bruce was rubbing his tired eyes. He'd stayed awake until Alfred woke up, and then he'd refused going to bed at all. Hence the tea in Clark's hand. 

"Here, baby," he murmured, placing the cup down on Bruce's desk and pressing a kiss to his mussed hair. 

"Damian wasn't in the kitchen, was he?" he muttered, and Clark rolled his eyes. 

"No. Drink up."

"You're looking rough," Dick said as he collapsed into one of the chairs in front of Bruce's desk. "Long night?"

"Yes. Thank you for your observation, Dick," Bruce said, cracking his neck before picking up the mug delicately, his pinkie pointing out a little more than usual. Manners, manners. All taught by the man resting downstairs with the morning paper. "How was your trip out?"

"Eventful. I stopped by Ma, and Kon. Jason's staying over too, helping with chores," Dick relayed as he slouched in his seat. Bruce blinked, and then looked up at Clark. 

"You knew," he said, a little accusingly. 

"Yeah. Ma called when he dropped by. I thought it best to keep it to myself, for now. I don't think Kon's told Tim, either. I figured we should give him some privacy." 

Bruce pressed his lips together, taking another mouthful of tea as he considered that. "Okay. I understand."

Dick raised his eyebrows. "Okay, you're gonna be less understanding in a second. I talked to him, told him I was coming home for a while because of Damian, and guess what he said? He said, _wow, you guys only just found out about that_?"

He blinked, obivously digesting that information. "Hmm. Talia did say she treated him like her own. I thought she was being overdramatic."

Dick pointed to him with his spoon. "Good point. Talia is... very dramatic. Though apparently she wasn't lying about this. Now, what's this I hear about Damian trying to kill Tim and Alfred?"

"Only Tim, actually," Clark said. "He drugged Alfred to keep him out of the way when he tried to gut Tim."

"Wow, a face to face thing, too? Very personal. And... awful. From the ranting texts Tim's been sending me, I'd cottoned on to the fact that they don't like each other very much, but murder? That seems..."

"He was trying to take Tim's place as Robin," Bruce sighed. "He thought that by... _eliminating his rival_ , I would gladly toss him the mantle of Robin and we'd prance off into the night."

"Prance, huh?" Dick asked, but at Bruce's bored look, he shook his head. "Jesus. The league really got to him. He likes Alfred, then, if he just drugged him? Not that that's a shocker, exactly. Who doesn't like Alfred."

"Any intruder we've ever had," Bruce suggested, making Dick grin and straighten up in his seat. "I don't know what we're going to do with him, honestly. Doubt this one is in the parenting books. We have to punish him somehow."

Clark nodded, but Dick frowned. 

"What are you gonna do, ground him? He already doesn't leave the house as it is. Send him back? No, can't do that, since he's going to be turned into a murder machine if we do. Oh, how about not letting him see his friends? Ah, wait- no friends either. What about-"

"Yes, thank you for the sass," Bruce interrupted. "You're being very helpful."

"This isn't on you," Clark pointed out. "We're the parents here, honey."

"Yeah, well, whatever you're doing now obviously isn't working, if he's been with you for a few weeks and is still so serious about killing you that he went for it. Even Jaybird took longer time than that to try and kill you when he came back. Maybe this isn't on me, but I still want to help."

Bruce and Clark met eyes, and then Bruce shrugged. "We're happy to hear you out, of course."

Dick put his bowl of cereal on Bruce's desk, and wiggled his eyebrows. "What does Damian hate the most, right now?"

"Us?" Bruce suggested, and then blinked. "Oh. Hmm. That could work."

At Clark's questioning look, Dick did little jazz hands. "Family time! He has to be around all of us, gets opportunities to feel like more than a trapped nuisance, and he's punished without you having to find the parental punishment equivalent for murder-attempt. Everyone wins!"

Clark tugged Dick into a half hug. "That's a great idea! We can do a movie night, maybe go mini-golfing? Oh, and B and I went to a pumpkin patch yesterday, that was a lot of fun!"

"You went to a pumpkin patch without me?" Dick gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. 

"Date night," Bruce explained. "Would you have wanted to 'hang out' for that?" Despite not doing air-quotes, they were fully audible for people who knew him. 

Dick wrinkled his nose. "Nope. Nevermind. I'm good." He glanced at Clark for a brief second. "You guys are doing date night again?"

"Well. We tried," Clark sighed. 

"Okay, so to get that back off the ground, that's mission two for the time being. Mission one being punish Damian."

"Mission one would actually be The Mission," Bruce pointed out, drinking the last of his tea and standing up. "I'll be checking up on Alfred." He moved towards the clock, but stopped when the door was open, hesitating. "It's... It's good to have you home, Dick."

"Thanks, dad," Dick said, just as silently. Bruce nodded, as if to himself, and disappeared in the time it took for the little snick-sound of the clock to close. Dick wiggled his eyebrows at Clark, who only laughed and ruffled his hair, much to Dick's protesting.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer that any dialogue you might recognize in this particular chapter is from the canon when Damian did this! Yes, this sweet little bitch really did this. Though I'm pretty sure he punched Tim off a platform first, and without Clark there to pull him away... Yeah.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments! Engaging with you guys is always so surreal and awesome. Also, we're at over 500 kudos and almost 100 bookmarks!!! That's crazy bananas yo, thank you!!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! <3<3

Bruce came back upstairs again when he'd checked on Al, letting Dick get his stuff settled in and grab some coffee. He stepped into the kitchen, where Clark and Dick were arguing about the latest Gotham Knights game, and squeezed Dick's shoulder with a blank face. "Want to meet our little troublemaker?" 

"Oh, do I," Dick said, raising his mug. "Want some coffee, dad?"

"No, thank you."

"You're just saying that because it wasn't Alfred who made it."

"I know your standards for coffee, Dick, and they're precariously low. Bend them a little more, and you'd lick it off a street," Bruce said. Without seeing the fond glint in his eyes, you'd think he was being mean, instead of just teasing. Thankfully, Dick and Bruce were a little better at reading each other, nowadays. 

"I even made this in your house, with your beans and your coffee maker. How can you not trust this deliciousness?" Dick argued, hoisting his cup up at his guardian. "B. Come on."

Bruce pursed his lips, staring into Dick's imploring eyes. Finally, he shook his head. "I really don't need more caffeine today. You'll have to show off your coffeemaking skills to the more appreciative. I'm sure Tim wouldn't mind."

"Wow. I'm gone for like a month and Bruce starts thinking about his caffeine intake? What happened around here?"

Clark and Bruce met eyes, a silent conversation in itself, and Clark sighed. "No need to worry. Bruce just had an....episode recently. Nothing serious!" he added at Dick's concerned frown. "He just had a bout of irregular heartbeat for a few moments."

"It's perfectly normal, considering my age, my sleep patterns and the amount of physical activity I put myself through. I had been awake for quite some time when it happened," Bruce said as Dick gaped at them.

Not too strange at all, as Leslie had confirmed later with an ultrasound and an EKG. It had still been a little scary for Clark, to hear his favorite heartbeat in the world beat out of tune, just as Bruce sat at his computer. He knew Bruce hadn't been there when he'd gone to bed a few times that week, but he hadn't given it too much mind. It just made him feel helpless to listen to Bruce's human, fallible heart pulsing off-beat. He'd bundled Bruce up in bed despite the man's protests, and it hadn't happened again since. Still, Leslie's orders had been to lower his caffeeine intake and at least attempt to sleep more, and Clark had been diligent in making sure Bruce followed orders. 

" _What_?" 

"It's fine," Bruce said. " _I'm_ fine, Dick. We didn't tell the kids because we didn't want you all to worry. I'm fine."

Dick took a deep breath, likely gathering himself. "You gotta take care of yourself, old man. Now is really not the goddamn time for that." He motioned towards Bruce's chest, and he rolled his eyes at their son's antics. 

"I. Am. Fine. I had an irregular heartbeat for less than a minute. It's over, it's not happening again, and we're done talking about it now," he said, a little sharply. 

When Dick turned towards him for support, Clark leaned against the kitchen island and shrugged. "He's fine. Leslie's confirmed it, but I'm keeping an eye on him. Promise."

Dick pointed a finger at Clark. "You better be. Now." He shook his head at himself, taking the last of his coffee before putting the mug down. "Lead the way, B."

Bruce hmmed, but guided the two of them upstairs to Damian's door. Bruce knocked, and then opened the door. "Damian?"

The boy sat up in bed and turned his head towards them, his face already twisted into that annoyed scowl. "I'm awake."

Dick jammed an elbow into Clark's side as he peeked in through the door, squealing. "Oh my god, he's such a mini-Bruce!"

Clark smiled. "Oh, you haven't seen a thing yet."

"Have you come to punish me, father?" Damian asked, his back as stiff as a board as he rose from his bed. He wasn't even wearing pjs, much less had a blanket to cover him. Clark knew that there was one in here, because Alfred would never leave a room in their home unfinished, but Damian had seemingly chosen to sleep without it.

"No. I want you to meet someone. This is Dick, our eldest son," Bruce introduced. 

"Hey, Damian," Dick said, beaming at him. "God, you look just like your parents."

Damian blinked, obviously not used to that sort of radiance in a smile. "You know my mother?"

Dick choked out a laugh. "Oh, sort of. She'd probably love to try and wipe the floor with me, if she ever saw me. Me and B got tangled up with her a lot, in the beginning. She always thought I was very bothersome and in her way."

Damian narrowed his eyes. "I see."

"Ah. You've already made a snap judgement on what I'm like because I said your mom doesn't like me," Dick teased. "Want to see what about me is the thing she hates the most?" Despite himself, Damian looked intrigued. Dick nudged his head towards the study, and patted Bruce shoulder, as if to stave off any protests. "C'mon. Let's go sparr."

\--- 

"I see now," Damian said, breaths measured as he tried to recover. "You're _annoying_."

Dick laughed, that joyous one that always managed to get the room smiling. Damian's eyes narrowed at him as he tried another jab, and Dick danced away. "Now you sound like her, too."

"I'll admit your skills are... formidable, though not as good as mine," Damian sneered. Clark was listening surreptitiously from the med bay, where Tim was asleep and Alfred still resting. Tim had gotten out of his Robin suit earlier, and was now curled up in a ball with his red hoodie drawn up over his head, grey sweatpants and bare feet under a light blanket. Clark swept his hair back from where it was dangling over his forehead, and pressed a kiss there, and then looked over his shoulder again, using his x-ray to see Dick weaving around Damian's strikes like the circus artist he was. 

"Cocky, cocky," Dick snorted, "but I think I know something you don't."

"Oh yeah?" Damian snapped, and Dick slipped an arm under him and flipped him on his back, making the boy grunt. 

Dick straightened, hands on his hips. "You fool! This isn't even my final form!" he boomed, only mock-serious, but Damian stayed down on the ground, his heartbeat hammering in his ribcage. 

"Are you my punishment?" Damian asked, his voice challenging but shaky.

"What? No! I was just joking, Damian. Time out," Dick said, immediately deflating. He dropped down on the mats, and Damian crawled back a bit, sitting up. Clark wanted to go to them, but Dick was a team leader, had decided that this was what he wanted to do, to help. Clark still sat at the edge of his seat, listening intently. 

Damian must've made some sort of face, because Dick made an agonized noise. "I'm not here as a punisher, Damian. I promise you that. This is not the League. Punishment doesn't mean being beaten, here. Here it means helping Alfred do the dishes, and the laundry, and vaccuming for a billion years because this entire house is made out of carpets!" 

"So what are they going to do to me?" Damian asked suspiciously. 

Dick sighed. "Well, what you did was like, so far from okay that it can't even be measured. Like, not at all. You have to realize that we're a family, and there's no line of succession here. You're the baby right now, no matter what you-"

"I'm not a baby," Damian snapped, and Clark could practically hear Dick rolling his eyes. 

"Yeah, Dames, we get it, you're big and strong and very dangerous-"

"I _am_!" the boy snarled, sounding genuinely frustrated. 

Dick paused. "I know. You fight good. Really good, for being your age, but that's not all there is to it. You're Bruce and Clark's responsibility now, and they take that pretty seriously. Until you prove you can be let loose in society, they're going to keep you to themselves, both because they don't want you to lash out, and because they want to protect you." 

"I don't need their protection. I do fine on my own."

"You don't get to decide if you need their protection or no, though. Talia thought you did, or she wouldn't have left you here. She trusted that Bruce and Clark would protect you, and every time you rebel against them, all you're doing is proving that you don't trust your mom's judgement, or theirs." Damian remained mutinously silent, and Clark could see that Dick crossed his legs and leaned back on his hands. He patted the sparring mat. "You can trust that off these mats, nobody's going to lay their hands on you in this household, unless you're a danger to others. Got it?"

Damian nodded, slowly. "Then what? How is vacuuming a punishment? I can just order the servant to do it."

Dick threw his head back to laugh. "Oh, good luck with that. I can tell you've never done a chore in your life. This will be good for you. Also, Disney movies."

" _Movies_ are going to be my punishment?" Damian asked, clearly suspicious and astonished. 

"You've never been at a Wayne family movie night. You don't know what you're in for," Dick huffed, rolling to his feet.

"Alright, come on, show me what you've got. I know there's more to you than your little knives."

"It's a katana," Damian said, with the tone of someone speaking to an idiot.

"Thought it might've been a wakizashi," Dick hummed. "What are you doing with a katana anyway? They're like half the size of you."

"It's a perfectly appropriate sword for a warrior of my status!" Damian exclaimed, obviously riled by this insult to his skills, and Clark braced for impact, but Dick just hummed thoughtfully, and began quizzing him about his other various weapons as they traded punches and kicks.

Clark listened to them banter, with Dick unmoved by Damian's acidic tone. Instead he listened, wheedled and laughed, never at him, but inviting him in. With no prejudices from Damian's side, their interaction was almost... amiable. He felt eyes on his face, and looked over to Alfred, who raised an eyebrow in inquiry at him. Clark smiled, a tentative one, and Alfred hummed, and returned to his book. 

\---

Damian apologized to Tim, but with great reluctance and under Bruce's pressing glare. It was obvious that their personality clashing wasn't going away anytime soon, but that was okay, Clark thought. Dick had a foot in the door, was already attempting to teach him manners, and with the help of Alfred, Clark was convinced they'd manage to figure him out soon, find some way to all get along. 

Introducing him to Kon was the next big thing, but only because having a family event without Kon was unthinkable. Clark had heard from Ma that Jason had spent almost two weeks at the farm before he was gone one morning without warning, leaving cash and a quick, thankful note on the kitchen table. Not even Kon had heard him sneak off. Not that Clark was very surprised. Jason was a bit of a wandering soul right now, it seemed, even though he never doubted that Gotham would always be what he considered home.

Over the almost three years he'd been around, Kon had spent some afternoons with him in the Fortress of Solitude, learning like Clark had from the computers about Krypton and its culture. All of the kids spoke passable Kryptonian, if only because Dick didn't like when Bruce and Clark spoke over his head as a kid, Jason was academically gifted and wanted to learn how to swear in another language, and Tim thought it would be a useful skill for defeating any Kryptonian enemies. 

Also, when Kon whined about it being hard to learn, Tim wove the longest sentence Clark had ever heard and wouldn't tell Kon what it was until he translated it himself. It ended up being a quote from some movie they'd watched with Young Justice recently, and the two of them had had an escalating prank war with Kryptonian translations, for a while. Kon also knew how to speak too fast for their loving, sneaky bats to pick up, which came in handy in this instance. 

"Jason says hi," Kon said under his breath and at super speed. Clark pulled him into his side in a half-hug, hiding his face from the rest of them and continued at much the same speed. 

"How did you two get along? I didn't want to check in and spook him away, but Ma told me he wasn't too much of a hassle."

"I think he knew you guys knew. And then when Dick came over, he almost jumped through the window to get away. But he's pretty cool, I think. A jerk, but like... A jerk like B is a jerk sometimes. Because he cares too much." 

Clark smiled, his heart aching. He pressed a happy kiss to Kon's forehead. "Yeah. You're entirely right, Kon-El. He didn't give you any trouble?"

"Nah. It was nice, not having to do all the heavy lifting alone. And he's funny. A mean funny, but funny. He was always real nice to Ma, too, which says a lot about him, I think."

"Yeah. He's a good kid, deep in there," Clark agreed. He heard the familiar noise of Dick skipping down the stairs, only taking every third stair, and he moved to face them, letting Kon go. Despite thinking they'd been sneaky, Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Clark raised his back in challenge, making Bruce's lips twitch.

"Hello Kon-El," he said, and was wrapped up in a quick hug as well. "Hm. Yes. Hello."

"Hey B. Tim! I don't see you enough, buddy."

"You saw me literally three days ago, dumbass," Tim said, but accepted the shoulder bump and hug he got with grace.   
Dick herded Damian to their gathering by the door, the boy going with obvious reluctance. "So this is the new addition, huh?" Kon asked, smiling sweetly. "Hi, Damian."

"Hello, clone," Damian sneered. 

"Ah, you're so close," Kon said, with a mock-disappointed face that made Tim grin and hide it behind his hand. "It's _Kon_ , or Conner, if you can manage two syllables. Say it with me. _Con-er_."

Damian crossed his arms over his chest, unamused. Dick slapped his hands together with a forced grin. "I can tell we're all gonna get along great! Hey kid, how are you doing?"

Dick hugged Kon briefly, much to Damian's chagrin if the way his lips twisted into a displeased frown was any indication. 

"'M good. Young Justice is keeping us busy, and high school is hard."

Dick laughed. "Nothing new there, then. Ma still good?"

"Yeah. She's got bridge night tonight," Kon explained, "and she's looking to beat her group's resident champion, so she wanted to stay home."

"Of course. I'll text her good luck," Dick said, whipping out his phone. 

"Upstairs?" Tim asked, and Clark nodded, hooking his elbow with Dick's to guide him up the stairs when he was distracted. All of them made their way to the comfy living room. 

Tim pushed Kon onto one of the couches, and Bruce settled in the loveseat, toeing off his shoes and crossing his legs on the coffee table. Clark grabbed the remote and sank down next to his partner, getting Bruce's hand on his thigh and a squeeze. 

"Why are we all gathered here?" Damian asked suspiciously as he watched them settle in. 

"This is your punishment," Tim said, kicking his feet up into Kon's lap. "And apparently I'm being punished too."

"Tim," Bruce said warningly, and their teenager threw his head back against the couch cushions with a lot more aggressiveness than needed. Bruce turned towards Damian. "You're also going to be doing chores with Alfred, but for now, this is also part of your punishment, until it no longer feels like one."

 _Hopefully, at least_ , Clark thought to himself. Damian opened his mouth, obviously with snark or a sharp remark on his tongue, but Clark wanted to nip that in the bud, this time.

"Any vicious comments add one new family event to the schedule," he warned with a smile. 

Damian bared his teeth in anger, but visibly clenched his jaw to keep it in. Dick beamed at Clark. "C'mon, little D, let's go get the drinks and snacks together," he said. 

"I'm not a servant. And don't call me that," Damian complained, but followed Dick like an angry duckling when he stepped back out of the room.

"I know, Damian, it's called being nice," Dick said, their voices disappearing out of range for normal, human ears. 

Clark turned to look at his partner, and found Bruce already looking at him and smiling a little. Clark leaned forward for a kiss, and dragged an arm around Bruce. "What do you kids want to watch?"

"Dick said the theme for the evening was Disney. Should we just watch them all? Start at the beginning?" Tim asked, when Kon shifted so he was half-lying down, with Tim's knees tossed over his legs and an elbow jammed between Tim and the couch, with his cheek resting in his palm.

"What's the first Disney movie ever made?" he asked.

"Probably black and white, Mickey cartoons. Don't feel like that's very entertaining for anybody here."

"The first one in color, then?" Kon suggested. "When was that anyway?"

"Snow White," Tim said, his phone in his hand. 

"In 1937," Clark added, because he actually knew that. "It was very successful for its time." 

Bruce hummed. "I was frightened by the evil witch from Snow White as a child, if I recall correctly." 

"You do not," came Alfred's voice from behind them, and Bruce's head snapped up. "It was Sleeping Beauty." 

"What are you doing up?" he growled, already on his feet and reaching out to steady him. Alfred swatted his reaching hands away. 

"I assure you, Master Bruce, that I well know my limits, and sitting in a chair to watch a movie is not beyond my ablities," Alfred said impatiently. "You found the evil witch excessively terrifying in Sleeping Beauty, and were entranced by the prince in Snow White."

"First crush?" Clark teased, smiling at Bruce's frown as he hovered around Alfred, who had settled down in the armchair unassisted.

"He's drawn unlike any other of Disney's princes because he was the first, before animation studios had any male stereotypes they had to follow," Bruce grumbled, hands on his hips as he glared down at his guardian. 

"His name is Florian. Oh my god, he has lips! And eyelashes," Tim exclaimed, showing Kon a picture, who nodded sagely. 

"Totally hot. I get it."

"Take your seat, Master Bruce. Rest assured that should there be anything truly wrong with me, you'll be there to catch me when I pop my clogs," Alfred sassed. Bruce looked two seconds away from grabbing Alfred in a fireman's carry and carrying him right back downstairs.

"Don't joke about that," Bruce pressed. When Clark beckoned him by crooking a finger, though, he admitted defeat and sat back down. Alfred ignored his biting glare as easy as anything. 

"Good to see you home, Master Conner. How is Martha?" he asked, turning towards the teenage-pile on the other couch. 

"She's good," Kon said, giving a thumbs up. "How are you doing?"

"Much better, thank you young sir. Where is the rest of our party? Is Miss Brown joining us as well?"

"No, Steph and Babs had Birds of Prey business," Tim pouted. "Dick and the Demon are downstairs."

" _Tim_ ," Bruce and Clark said at the same time, with the same warning tone. Tim held his hands up, in the universal defeated gesture.

"Also I'm pretty sure Steph would try to kill Damian before he could attempt to kill her," Kon pointed out, yawning as Tim threw a blanket over the both of them. 

"Stephanie wouldn't," Bruce said. There was a pause, and then he tilted his head from side to side. "Probably. No. She has more restraint than that now." 

"Oh sure," Clark agreed, pulling Bruce back in against his chest. "Tim, would you find Snow White for us?"

"Sure," he said, fiddling with his phone and turning the tv on. 

Dick and Damian returned, with snacks, soda and glasses in hand. They dumped it all on the coffee table, with Dick throwing a pack of Twizzlers to Kon and handing Bruce his Mike and Ikes with a disgusted look on his face. 

Damian noticed Alfred in the chair, and froze, eyes a little wider. 

"Hello young masters. I hope you also grabbed a healthy snack," Alfred chided. Dick rustled around in the pile on the table, and came out with a bag of mini-carrots, hoisting it victoriously over his head. 

"Yes. Yes, we did, Al!" he said, obviously proud of himself. 

"Very well, then," Alfred said, a bemused look on his face. Dick nudged Damian's side with an elbow gently. 

"Damian, do you have something to say to Alfred?" he asked, very pointedly. Damian scowled like they were dishonoring him, his green eyes wanting to shoot lightning strikes at the lot of them. 

"No need," Alfred said. "I am sure Master Damian will apologize when he's ready. For now, let us enjoy the beauty of Snow White and her Florian."

"Am I never going to live that down?" Bruce asked as Damian and Dick settled in the remaining couch with a little bickering, and Alfred's lips twitched into a small smile. 

"No, sir," he said, very tenderly. "Never."

Bruce grumbled, but settled down when Tim played the movie, rustling some candy into his hand from the box. 

\--- 

Dick took a break from Nightwing just so he could hang out with Damian during the daytime, at least for the week, which Clark appreciated whole-heartedly. He could go to work without concerns for their safety, and came home to a Damian who was, if not a little tired from the days events, at least a little less acidic every time. He and Dick took Ace running, explored the grounds, and Damian did his daily two hours of chores with Alfred after lunch. 

When he wasn't at risk of being embarrassed in front of the entire family, Damian had silently apologized for poisoning Alfred, but attempted to explain his side of things. Alfred shut that down gently, and said that what really mattered was that Damian felt remorse for his actions, which he did. 

Clark had heard of this through Alfred rather than his usual accidental overhearing. He was attempting to break his habit of listening to Damian all day, just to make sure he was behaving. Despite Damian not knowing, it was making Clark feel bad for intruding on his privacy, even though his quick little heartbeat was becoming very soothing to hear. 

He was failing miserably at not listening at the moment, his head tilted a bit to the side as he heard Damian attempt to coax Ace into eating a treat from his hand. Despite him trying more with Ace than anyone else, she still didn't trust Damian very much at all. Mostly she was indifferent to him, even after all their runs together.

The door to the library opening in front of him snatched Clark out of his thoughts, and he looked up from his book to see Dick standing in the doorway, his pj pants old and stretched out to the point that they barely stayed at his hips, and a big, black hoodie that might've been Bruce's at one point. He yawned so big his jaw cracked, and dragged his feet over the carpet as he approached Clark.

"Hello, zombie child," Clark teased, lifting his arm in invitation. 

"Rraagh," Dick muttered, collapsing into the space like a ragdoll. 

Clark ruffled his hair with the one hand, pulling the hoodie up to cover it. "Disliking turning your sleep schedule on end?" 

"How can someone be a morning person? Teach me your ways, pop," Dick groaned. 

"Sorry. It's just my DNA. Nothing I can teach, probably. My first advice would be go to sleep earlier, but I know that's physically impossible for you."

"I'm trying," he whined. "It's not working. The Titans keep sending shit in the group chat at two am, and all case files everyone else turns in are super late in the evening."

"Language," Clark reminded him. "And you can check all of that when you wake up early in the morning."

Dick grumbled and wiggled closer, curling into a tired ball against Clark's side. "'S fine. Y'know, if B let Damian go out with him, this wouldn't be such a big deal."

"Because Damian's sleep schedule would be irreparably damaged as well, you mean?" 

"Yeah. No, wait. No. Yes?" Dick squinted up at him. "I'm tired. Have mercy on my sleep-deprived brain."

Clark chuckled. "You know he's not going to put Damian on the streets when he can't even be trusted not to use his katana at home."

"Mm. I think Bruce just sees to much of Talia in him," Dick mumbled, leaning his head on Clark's shoulder as his pop stroked his cheek with his other hand. 

"I think he's afraid," Clark said, just as soft. "Jason was angry like Damian, too, once. Bruce didn't take it seriously enough then, and look how that turned out. He's scared he's going to make the same mistakes, so he just... doesn't want to deal with it."

"B, _scared_? As if." 

He smiled to himself. "Is this one of those times where we'll have to agree to disagree on Bruce's temper?"

Dick grumbled, pulling a blanket over himself from the back of the couch. "Fine. You're just always such an optimist about it."

"Mm. True, I suppose. I know him pretty well nowadays, I think."

"Do you think he knows you just as well as you do him?"

"I'd like to think so. He's said more than once that he could fill a library with information about me."

Dick hummed. "I don't know if that's romantic or creepy. With him, it could go either way."

Clark chuckled. "You're allowed to have your own opinion on the matter, as much as I am, and _I_ think it's romantic."

"But you're B's kind of weird, so that adds up, whereas I am not. If he told me he could write a library about me, I'd take that as a threat to both of our sanities," Dick said. 

Clark pressed his lips shut. What Dick didn't know, probably because he was too young to really remember, was that Bruce had started a little journal about him when he was little, and had only just come to stay at the manor. At first, it was only to keep Dick's likes and dislikes straight, because he was a bit of a finicky child for a while, but then it had turned into an actual journal about his progress, how he was adjusting. When Jason had come to stay with them, he'd done the same thing, documented their first years together with all its ups and downs. The journals about Tim and Kon were probably on the batcomputer, locked down tight, but the two original tomes about their first kids rested somewhere in this library, their covers robins-egg blue. 

The sounds of someone stomping down the corridor made them both look out the door, and Damian appeared in the doorway, pretty obviously pissed off.

"Grayson! We're going on a walk," he announced, a demand and not a request by any means. He was dressed in a dark turtleneck and tailored little pants, looking more than ever like a miniature copy of Bruce. Clark had to restrain his smile at the sight. 

"Aw, no, come on little D, I'm so comfortable and snuggly here. Don't you wanna cuddle too?" Dick asked, lifting the blanket invitingly. Damian looked at him like he was a few screws short of a hardware store, stupid for even suggesting it. 

"I have no need to rest further. Now, come," he demanded.

"It's not about the rest, Dames, it's about the experience of being _snuggled_."

"It sounds awful," Damian said. 

"Do you even know the definition of the word snuggle? Come here," Dick urged. "We'll go on a walk in a minute. I just need to wake up a little more."

"And you do this by continuing to rest?" Damian asked, skeptical. 

"Sort of? When I don't have to jump out of bed, I like to doze." From the look on Damian's face, he thought this seemed very wasteful and unnecessary. "C'mon. How long have you been awake, anyway?"

"Since six-thirty," Clark said as Damian stepped further into the room tentatively. He raised an eyebrow to acknowledge Clark's words, at least. 

"Oh my god, Damian! What's the point of getting to sleep in and not doing it?" Dick groaned. 

"Why would I waste time asleep when I've slept all the hours I need to function?" Damian countered. 

"Blasphemy, I tell you," Dick said, and now that Damian was close enough, he hooked a leg around Damian's, and with a neat little twist, pulled Damian onto the couch with them, and wrapped him in the blanket. For a moment, Damian struggled, but it didn't seem like he had any weapons on him, and despite their relatively short acquaintance, Damian had learned fast that the best way to get out of whatever situation Dick had put him in, was to just ride it out. He stopped fighting back, but still held himself stiff and unsure, like he didn't really know what to do with himself. 

"Isn't this nice?" Dick asked, smiling as he scooted them back a little. Clark's arm was still around Dick's shoulders, and when Damian was pulled back, his soft black hair brushed against Clark's hand. He had to stop himself from ruffling the spikey strands. 

"This is _not_ nice," Damian said, his frown as prominent as usual, though he looked cuter than ever before, wrapped up in a blanket and with Dick's arms around him. 

"Not even a little?" Dick asked, looking completely disheartened. Damian pursed his lips and wiggled in Dick's grasp, his hands immobilized by the blanket, but he didn't actually say anything more. Dick smiled his smallest genuine smile, and squeezed Damian once before standing up to stretch and yawn again. "Alright, coffee first, and then walk. Maybe Ace will let you put her collar on today?"

"She seemed unaffected by the treats I gave her earlier," Damian said as he untangled himself from the blanket, but not fast enough to make it look like he absolutely hated it.

The two of them left the room, and Clark wondered to himself if Bruce had started a journal for Damian yet. Maybe this time, it was his turn to start. 

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a very affectionate child myself, I feel pretty confident that despite being an adult, Dick still appreciates some snuggles from his pop. Also, the journal thing is also inspired by my real life events! My mom and my grandma both did little journals about me and my sister when we were little. I think mom stopped when I was about eight, and my grandma still does it to this day, whenever we visit. It's sort of crazy to be able to read that when I was like six I asked my grandma if she wanted to be cremated or no. What kind of weird child does that??


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Am I procrastinating like hell bc i have a test in... about three days? Yes. Does that mean you get an extra long chapter? Yes! I also however edited this very late after a long day, so... have mercy.  
> Thank you guys so much for the comments and kudos and bookmarks!! You make me so happy and encouraged. Also, sort of heads up that from now on, canon is going to be more handwavey than before, because DC makes me mad.   
> Hope you enjoy! <3<3

Now that Kon and Damian were introduced, they mostly ignored each other. At family dinners, Tim and Damian continued to sit in front of each other like every time they opened their mouths it _wouldn't_ turn into a war-zone, and Kon was on the other side of Tim, eyeing the child warily whenever he wasn't stuffing his face with Alfred's cooking, or chatting to his other brothers.

Of course, this relative peace in their household didn't last long. Kon started breaking things, suddenly unable to manage his powers to the point of the Young Justice kids having to restrain him during training and after battles. His control of his TKK was slipping for seemingly no reason, but they were working on it, trying to get him back to himself. Kon's frustration with them just reached its limits way before they actually managed some progress, rattling everybody's nerves and even making Bruce frown deeper, even when his patience was usually very hard for him to lose.

Conner was gone from the farm often enough that Martha called them almost once a day, just to see where he was, and his grades started going down. When Bruce and Clark expressed their worry, Kon just shrugged them off. When they instead pressed Tim to spill the beans, the boy shrugged as well, at as much of a loss as they were. It seemed like a regular teenage freak-out, if a little prolonged, which they were pretty used to at this point. The fact that Kon was technically only about three years old and superpowered didn't make dealing with it any easier for any of them. 

Clark dropped in on the farm after work one day to do some training, greeting Ma with a kiss on the cheek. "Now, where's our resident sourpuss?"

Her smile faded. "He ain't with you? Conner left for y'alls house yesterday. He showed me messages from Tim asking him to come over," she said, concern making the wrinkles on her forehead more prominent. 

Tilting his head to listen, he focused on the manor. He could only hear Damian arguing with Alfred as Dick chuckled, Ace's snuffling. Bruce and Tim were out doing WE-business, if he remembered right. No Conner.

"Don't worry, Ma. I'll call Tim and we'll get this sorted out straight away," he promised. "I'll bring him back to you in a jiffy." 

Martha continued to frown, clearly displeased that she'd been fooled, but agreed. He pulled his phone out, dialing Tim up. 

"Hey pop," came Tim's distracted voice as he picked up. "Is Bruce not picking up his phone? I'm pretty sure he's in a meeting of some sort."

"Nope. This call is all for you, Timmy," Clark promised. "When was the last time you heard from Conner?"

"Last night. I asked if he wanted to come over, but he said he was going to YJ early because Bart was and that I'd see him tonight when I dropped by. Why?" 

Clark sucked his breath in through his teeth. Not only had Kon dodged Ma, he'd managed to lie to Tim too. "He told Ma he was with you."

Tim remained silent for a moment. "Well, he clearly isn't."

"Don't be snarky with me right now, please. Is Bruce really in a meeting?"

"I honestly don't know. I can ask." There was the beeping of a button, probably Tim contacting his assistant. The fact that Drake Industries had been acquired by Wayne Enterprises not long after Jack Drake's death really pissed a lot of rich, influental people off, but Tim was managing to be both the main shareholder of DI and the CCO of WE with finesse. Apparently he solved cases easier when he had to stare at pie-charts and statistics. Never let it be said that Clark understood how his boys figured stuff out. "Yeah, he's busy with the board. Like, unless there's a big emergency, he's not going to pull out of the meeting."

"I'll call again if it is. Guess I'll have to check in with Red Tornado, see if he's actually gone to YJ. Thanks, Tim."

"Keep me in the loop," Tim demanded with his decisive CCO voice. 

Clark snorted. "Yes, Sir. You got it."

Tim sighed, in that wonderfully exasperated teenager way that Clark so adored, and hung up on him. In the end, Clark decided he might as well go to Young Justice HQ. It would only take him a few minutes, and if Kon was there, he and Clark were going to have _words_ about lying about where you were when you were a superhero who could get kidnapped on occasion.

Spinning into his Superman suit, Clark took off, listening in again on Alfred teaching Damian about chess as Dick chased Ace around the house to get rid of whatever it was she had in her mouth. She was fast when she didn't want to be caught, and he could only hope that Dick would catch up to her before she managed to swallow whatever it was. On one memorable occasion, she'd attempted to chew down a whole sock just to get it away from Bruce, but he had managed to get it out before she ate it, berating her for being a foolish dog as he petted her head. 

Red Tornado relayed that Conner hadn't been there since last Sunday, when all the kids had left for the week, and Clark began to grow frustrated. Generally he was a pretty patient man, but the lying, Kon's crappy behavior recently, it really set him on edge. Combining that with the fact that Kon had slammed the door to his room in the manor so hard the door had come right off its hinges last time he'd seen him, this was getting to be ridiculous. They couldn't talk about whatever was bothering Kon if he didn't even make an attempt to communicate himself. 

Clark sat down on the floor and focused. With the other kids, it was pretty easy to find them, since he could generally limit his search to the US, but with Kon, he could've gone anywhere. He expanded his hearing in loops, imagining it like throwing a lasso, and listened for Kon's heartbeat and voice, filtering through the murmuring mass that was the rest of the world. 

Finally, the sound of the ocean reached him, of Conner's heartbeat and his fast breathing. When he shouted, it was swallowed by the breeze swaying palm-trees and their leaves skritching against each other. Clark was up and flying without ever opening his eyes, following Conner's angry shouting to an island in the middle of the ocean. Polynesia, definitely. He didn't detect any heartbeats nearby, except for Kon's fast one. That was good, at least, if he had to subdue him, which Clark hated but which might still be needed. 

A giant dust-cloud on one of the islands caught his attention, and he dropped down on a beach, where he could see Kon was smacked out on the sand like a star-fish, eyes closed. 

"There you are!" Clark exclaimed, marching over the sand when Kon's head snapped up, wide-eyed. "Boy, do we need to have words. Ma was worried sick last I heard of her! Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going? What happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm- I'm fine, Superman," Conner muttered, rolling onto his side and getting to his feet. 

"Oh yeah? Then why did you lie about where you were? What is going _on_ with you lately, Kon-El?" Clark asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice and failing spectacularly. It wasn't too surprising that he'd put his hands on his hips, too distracted with being a parent to realize how imposing he must look in his Superman suit.

Kon obviously didn't take well to this display of authority. His face twisted into an angry frown. "You don't wanna hear it!"

"I do! I really, really do, Conner. Please tell me what's wrong. We can fix it together, whatever it is. Okay?"

Kon rubbed the back of his head and looked away, the fight draining out of him. "It's Lex Luthor."

Clark blinked. Of all things... That wasn't what he was expecting. "Lex? What about him?"

"He approached me and for once he wasn't putting out supremely creepy vibes," Conner said, rubbing his face with both of his hands, exhausted at even having to have this conversation, it seemed. "Said he just wanted to help, get me into some fancy prep school that he went to, that I was his son and he wanted to get me what I needed for a successful life. He was boasting about his apartments and his money and what he could do for me and he offered me all this stuff to boost my powers! I was gonna come to you and B about it but I thought that it was just a fluke and then I _tried_ it-"

Clark held his hands up to stop Kon's flow of words as it sped up, trying to keep his head. "Whoah, whoah. You tried-"

"Yeah!" Conner shouted, kicking the sand, obviously letting all of his frustrations out. It was, at least, the most emotion he'd gotten out of him on whatever was bothering him. "It was such a rush and I could fly faster and I got stronger and I could catch people jumping from buildings without breaking their bones, but the comedown was so awful, it felt like I was under that stupid red sun lamp in the cave and it _sucked_! And I still had the patches so I tried again and I just kept- kept doing it!

"And then when I got home to Ma yesterday I was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was nag about my homework and the SATs, and I just- I just got _so_ mad that I fucked up so bad that I let Lex get under my skin, literally, and I was so mean and it felt awful, but that just made me madder! And I ruined my pillow when I punched it, and I didn't want to fucking deal with it, so I told Ma I was going to your place so she'd let me go, and then I-" Kon cut himself off, throwing his head back and groaning like he was dying.

"You flew here," Clark guessed, looking around at the abandoned beach. "Pretty good spot-"

"Stop being so nice to me!" Kon yelled, kicking the sand with enough velocity that it made a giant cloud, raining little grains down on Clark.

"You want me to yell?" 

"Yes! No! I just- Aaargh!" Kon shouted, grabbing his hair. Lucky for him, he had Clark's hair, so it remained in his head when he pulled. 

"Okay," Clark said slowly, approaching with his hands up. "From what I'm hearing, you've had a tough couple of weeks. Why didn't you tell anyone? You know anybody in the family would've listened without judging. I know your team loves you too, and they'd want to know, want to help." 

"I know!" Kon groaned. "God, I know! I just felt like it was such a big fuck up and it kept getting worse, and when my powers started acting up, it really set in that I'd accepted help from Lex-fricking-Luthor!"

"Hey, when screw ups get worse, that's exactly when you're supposed to reach out to one of us," Clark said firmly. "You're just a kid, Conner. We don't expect you to be able to deal with everything yourself, yet. That's what you have me and Bruce for, and Ma. And any of the JL that you'd feel comfortable confiding in." 

Kon sank down on his knees in the sand, looking so disheartened that Clark felt his own heart ache for the boy. "I don't know what the stuff did to me, but it's messed me up. I upset Ma, I pissed you and B off... My team hates me. I'm a monster. It's the Luthor genes. I knew I wouldn't be able to shake that off." 

"Kon-El," he said firmly as he kneeled down in front of him, taking hold of his boy's face so he was looking him in the eye. "You are _not_ a monster. Not even close. You being part Luthor doesn't mean anything for who you really are. He knows a lot about Kryptonians, and he was manipulating what he knows about you, which is that you want to help people and that you think the best way to do that, to be an asset to that team of yours, is to have more power. This is not on you, kid. I would've preferred if we'd had this talk before you took off to Polynesia though. Next time, just come to an adult before it gets out of hand. Okay?"

Kon nodded, still looking crushed. Clark mushed his stupid sweet face into his shoulder, rubbing Kon's back soothingly until it didn't seem like Kon was going to have a spontaneous rage-outburst anymore. He was about to help Kon brush off all the sand on him, when his TKK field expanded in one quick burst, bringing all the dust with it, before it molded back to his body. 

"Nifty," Clark said, making Kon's first, tentative smile appear. "Alright. Now we go home."

They flew first to Ma's farm, where she berated Kon for lying about where he was better than Clark would've. Properly scolded, she kissed Kon on the cheek and told him she was very happy he was safe and sound. When Clark told her he was bringing Kon back to the manor for the week, she pursed her lips, but promised to call him in sick for school and sent them off with a cherry pie, Bruce's favorite. 

Bruce was called then, seeing as it actually was an emergency now, and he came home and tugged his tie off fully, unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt, like it didn't make him look obscenely hot. The frown on his face as he heard the story wasn't judgemental, only considering, probably already trying to figure out what could make a kryptonian stronger without having lasting effects. 

Conner handed over one of the patches, and Bruce stared at them intently, before disappearing into the labs in the cave for a few hours. When he emerged, looking a little haggard and definitely like a bit of a crazy business school grad, he tossed a grey file onto the computer bank. 

"Kryptonian steroids, essentially. Hormones that amplified performance under yellow-sun exposure. They probably had a lot of information about it on file from having grown Kon in the first place, but it's... Sort of demoralizing to know that Luthor knew exactly how much he was messing with Conner's system and still gave it to him." Bruce stared at Conner intently. "When was the last time you used one?"

"Yesterday," Kon said sheepishly. Bruce hummed. 

"The effects are lasting shorter periods of time, then?"

"Yeah, I guess. So what do I do?" Conner asked, chewing on his thumb-nail nervously. 

"We," Clark corrected firmly, placing Kon in one of the computer chairs. "You're not going through this alone, okay? We're here for you."

Bruce pursed his lips, looking between the two supers. "You're not going to like it one bit."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" Kon asked, throwing his hands in the air in annoyance. 

"Not have taken performance enhancing drugs given to you by a megalomaniac without maybe checking in with either of us first!" Bruce snapped, making Kon's arms cross over his chest. He pouted better than Dick had managed as a teenager, and Bruce looked at Clark beseechingly. When Clark frowned at him for snapping, they traded a significant look about exactly what Bruce thought about Conner's stupid decisions. While very tempted to kick Bruce in the shin, Clark restrained himself. 

"How do we get Conner well again?" he asked, rubbing Conner's shoulder soothingly. 

"Detox," Bruce said simply. "Put him under a red sun-lamp so he can't hurt himself or others until all of it is out of his system. Keep an eye on him so Lex doesn't get to him again. Destroy whatever of it he's got left."

"God, I'm such a loser. You're making me sound like a frigging drug-addict," Kon groaned. Bruce sighed, and leaned against the computer next to them, resting a hand on Conner's other shoulder firmly. 

"You are _not_ a loser. You were manipulated by an authority figure and the fact that Lex Luthor chose to do this to you is not your fault. The only thing I'm complaining about is that it took this long for you to tell us. We don't know what kind of lasting effects this will have on your powers, and without control, you could've hurt someone. I hope you realize that."

"Yeah," Kon muttered. 

"Actions have consequences, Kon-El, and after you're done with your detox, I'm telling Ma to ground you." Kon's head snapped up, mouth opening ready to protest, but Bruce just kept talking. "No YJ for at least two weeks, and Tim's staying here for all that time, too. No Bart zooming over either. And I _will_ know." 

"That's not fair!"

"Along with your powers, which I know you did not ask for, yes Conner, comes an enormous amount of responsibility, and you using those patches was an irresponsible way to deal with that amount of power. If you can't act like the capable kid I know you are when not under the influence, I don't want you out in the field. Got it?"

Kon sulked spectacularly, looking up at Clark for support, but the first thing he'd learnt as a parent was that kids sensed weakness like sharks sensed blood in the water, so he tried to keep his face stern, and gave a decisive nod. Kon tossed his head back against the back of the computer chair. "God, fine! Ugh." 

"How did Luthor contact you?" Bruce asked, letting go of Kon now that his firmness was no longer needed, and leaning back against the computer, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"He was just there one day, outside a coffee shop I was at with the YJ. He said he was my father and that all he wanted was for me to live up to my true potential," Kon scoffed.

"Family is more than blood," Bruce said simply, meeting eyes with Conner. "It doesn't matter if Lex Luthor claims to be your father, because you can decide whatever you want to call him."

" _Douchebag_ ," Conner said, very swiftly and firmly. Clark chuckled, and Bruce quirked a smile. 

"Yes, that's... fitting, I agree."

Clark petted Kon's short hair. "I don't think we can keep this from the other kids, if you have to stay under the red-sun lamp for long, but you don't have to tell them if you don't want to. We can come up with some kryptonian bullcrap excuse if you want."

Kon shook his head, sighing. "Tim knows more about Krypton than I do, at this point. It'd be pointless." 

"Don't worry about it. Your brothers will be on their best behavior. We'll fix this," Bruce promised, his voice so confident and sure that Clark and Conner couldn't _not_ agree with him.

\---

Trying to focus on his writing was tough for the rest of the week, but for once Clark was in the zone, not paying any attention to Conner, Tim and Bruce in the cave attempting to keep Conner's waxing and waning powers under control. The first day or two had been fine, mostly Conner getting bored and antsy with having no access to his TKK, but the moment he stepped outside of the red lamp's range, it fritzed out the computer, and launched Tim off to the next platform, where the mats were, thankfully. After that, he'd been too scared to leave at all, and approaching day five, Bruce said his hormone-levels were beginning to at least plateau.

The ringing of his phone startled Clark out of his focus, the ringing loud and the buzzing making his desk rattle, and he peeked at the number, not recognizing it one bit. Could mean it was a contact, or one of the JL juniors who he didn't have penned in. Also, Ollie broke a surprising amount of phones. Could be anyone, really.

He picked up. "Clark Kent."

There was silence on the other end for long enough that he thought he was just being prank-called, until the other person on the line cleared their throat awkwardly. "Um. Hi pops."

Clark gaped. "Jason?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding more uncomfortable by the minute. "Hi."

Shaking his head at himself, Clark leaned back in his chair. "Hey, Jay. What's up?"

"Uh... I was just wondering... And, it's not that I don't- I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," Jason stumbled over his words in an uncharacteristically nervous manner. He only seemed nervous when something really mattered to him. He'd sounded the same when he'd asked for an upgrade on the Robin-suit, when he'd asked for a firmer mattress. Didn't want to be a bother, was too scared to ask anything of them that proved he mattered to them. 

"Anything you need, baby boy," Clark promised before he could think it all the way through. Whatever, he'd deal with the consequences when Jason actually got around to asking for something. 

Jason took a deep, steadying breath, the kind of breathing exercises Bruce had taught him what now felt like ages ago. "It's Ace's adoption day. I just... wanted her to have something from me, and Dick's not picking up his phone..."

Clark closed his eyes. "Of course. We usually get her a little treat and a toy to celebrate. I know she'd be overjoyed to have you visit, too, if you wanted that."

He was quiet on the other end for a moment. "Is B home?"

"Yes," Clark said. "But don't you think you guys have to start somewhere? Are you just never going to be in the same room with him, ever again? In that case, I'd like to know, so I can attempt to get split in half for the occasion."

Jason scoffed. "I don't... I just wanted to see Ace, is all. Okay?"

"Okay," Clark agreed. "I'm not going to be lookout for you though, I'm hoping you understand. If Bruce shows up, which he probably will because it's his house, I'm not going to keep him from you. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jason muttered. "'S Conner there with you?"

"Sort of. He's here, but he's flying directly back to Ma when he's done with his training. He's grounded, y'see."

He snorted, and there was the sound of shifting clothes, the creak of Jason's leather jacket. "What'd he do to manage that?"

"Lied about where he was. Did some other stuff without asking any sort of permission. We were worried for a moment until I found him," Clark sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.

Jason remained quiet again for a moment, and the only reason Clark knew he hadn't hung up yet was because he could still hear the boy breathing. "I'm coming over in twenty. Maybe give the big B some warning."

"Not going to guard you!" Clark repeated, but just heard the click of the call disconnecting. Rude, but not unexpected. He saved his document, trying to get back into it, but it just wasn't happening, it seemed. Sighing, he stood up, and fetched Ace from the kitchen, giving Alfred a meaningful look. The butler raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and stacked another plate on the counter very decisively. 

"C'mon Ace. Birthday girl!" Clark cheered at her, and her tail wagged, obviously very pleased with this, even if she didn't understand the words, just his tone. She'd get her little doggie cupcake before dinner, when they were all seated. 

They walked upstairs, into the study, but when he was expecting it to be empty, he walked in to Bruce sitting at his desk. He raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Why aren't you downstairs?" he asked.

"Kon was doing fine last time I saw him. His hormones are leveling out, and I had WE stuff that I needed to attend to. He and Tim were playing cards, last time I saw."

"Oh."

"I wouldn't leave them alone if I thought Kon was any real danger. He's too scared he's going to hurt Tim as it is. It'll be good for him to have that fear firmly put down before he's back to himself."

Clark couldn't contain himself any longer. "Jason's coming." 

Bruce blinked. He looked down at Ace, and clicked his tongue. She trotted around his desk to put her head in his lap trustingly, recieving a few scratches between her eyes, around her greying muzzle. "Ah. Of course. For Ace. It's... fine," he said, his face blank. 

"I told him, but I'm going to tell you too: I'm not going to stand between the two of you like a fence today. Whatever the two of you mess up, you do together, and if you break anything, I'm making you put it back together by _hand_. There will be no buying a new thing because you can afford it. Got me?"

Bruce's lips twitched into a smile. "Yes, dear."

Clark pointed at him. "Don't be sweet with me. I'm not going to change my mind."

"Okay," Bruce said, still with that little smile on his face. "You're radiant when you shout at me."

"Stop it," Clark declared, but pressed a kiss to his partner's lips anyway, before shaking his head at himself. "C'mon, Ace. Let's go downstairs." 

She trotted after him dutifully, and when the red sun lamp room was in view, he could see that Kon and Tim were indeed just playing cards, with Tim right outside the light, their cards placed on the ground right where the red light stops. Kon's lying on his stomach, while Tim had his legs in criss-cross-applesauce. 

"How are you feeling?" Clark asked as he approached them, with Ace nuzzling against Tim's face briefly, making him scratch just under her jaw without looking up from his cards. 

Kon placed a nine of clubs on one of the piles between them. "Okay, I guess. B said I should be good to go soon at least, so I'll probably be able to go back to Kansas soon. This cave is getting scary, and missing a whole week of school means the backlog of stuff I have to do will just be... massive. The bats are way louder than I thought they would be, too."

"You get used to it," Tim said, placing a ten of clubs on top of his card. "You can't filter sounds out when you don't have superhearing?"

"I guess not," Kon said, attempting to shrug while still resting his elbows on the ground. Tim hummed, obviously interested by this new information but not enough to get up and add it to Bruce's observation document on Kon's powers.

"Think you might be able to come up for dinner tonight, then?" Clark asked hopefully, rubbing Ace's soft, pointy ear between his fingertips. 

"I mean, I can try. If my powers flip out when I leave this place though, I'm going right back in," he said sincerely. 

"Okay. Then I need to give you two a heads up. Jason's coming over." Both of them looked up at him at that, Tim with a suspicious squint on his face, and Kon with a small smile. 

"Nice," he said, turning back to his cards and putting one down. "To celebrate Ace, right? Is he going to be at dinner too?"

"Frankly, I have no clue," Clark said, noting how Tim's squint turned into a frown, while Kon just nodded. "All I know is that he wanted to drop by and give Ace a gift."

Kon nodded, but Tim snorted. "Yeah, that or shoot Bruce in his sleep. Never know with him, do we?" 

"Dude, not cool," said Kon sincerely. "Jason's a good guy. I know you'd like him if you, like, talked to him once out of costume."

"I doubt it," Tim frowned, placing another card down. "Our choices of costume are sort of our point of contention, and that doesn't go away when we're not wearing them."

Kon sighed. "Man, you're being so passive aggressive."

"He tried to kill both Bruce and Clark, more than once! How have you just stopped caring about that?"

"I have," Clark said, startling the teens into looking up at him. "He was confused. Under Talia's thumb. I don't think he's going to do it again, at the very least. I trust in that."

"That's stupid," Tim said frankly, at the same time as Kon said "I believe you."

They glared at each other for a hot second, but Clark was distracted from their bickering with the cave alarms blinking on. Tim hopped into the computer chair and clacked on some keys to get the video feed from the cave entrance up on the big screen. 

"Knock knock, little piggies," came Jason's teasing voice over the comms, where he was standing with his motorcycle in the bushes, in full Red Hood regalia. At least he had no guns in the thigh-holsters, but Clark didn't exactly doubt that he had other weapons on his person. 

"Grant him access," Clark said. 

"I would like it to be on record that I'm against this," Tim pressed, but input the commands needed to grant temporary access. 

"Yeah, Tim, we've got it," Kon sighed, putting all his cards out. "Hah! I win."

"That's not possible," Tim said, stepping back and waving his cards in front of Kon's face. "I have the two of spades, jackass."

Tuning out their arguing, Clark listened to the roar of Jason's bike through the tunnels leading into the cave as it came closer. Ace yawned, but Clark could tell the moment when the sound reached her ears too, as they twitched. 

Jason's bike squealed onto the lower parking platform, stopping only just before he bashed it right into Nightwing's racer. He turned the engine off, and pulled off his red helmet, revealing no domino in sight, only his sparkling eyes and wide, mischevious grin. 

"Daddy, I'm home!" he shouted obnoxiously into the cave, making Clark grin reluctantly. 

"Go see who that is," Clark said, clicking his tongue. Ace hurried over to where the stairs started, letting out a sharp bark.

"Ace! There's my girl," Jason beamed as she barked again, this time louder, and leapt down the stairs to get to him. Ace was a pretty sturdy dog for her breed, and with that velocity, it was a miracle Jason didn't crack his skull right open on the platform when she hopped on him to lick his face. He laughed, sounding more like the boy Clark had known than ever before. "Alright, girlie, get off me. Let me get you your present."

Ace backed off but remained plastered to Jason's leg as he went back to his bike, opening a compartment and pulling out a stuffed toy in the shape of a cactus. "Here you go, killer Ace! Go get it!"

He tossed the cactus up the stairs, and Ace went after it like she was shot from a canon, hurrying to bring it back to him as he climbed the stairs. They had a little tug of war in the upward slope of it before Jason got her to drop it, and launched it over to the other side of the platform. 

"Good arm," Clark pointed out. "You should join the Titans' baseball team. They do scrimmage games sometimes."

"Not a huge baseball fan. The good throwing arm came with the gig," he said with a sarcastic smile. Ace bounded back to him with the toy, and Jason dropped down to his knees to give her a full-body petting. By this point, Tim and Kon had interrupted their game, and Tim came to stand next to Clark with the same frown on his face as earlier.

"What'd you get her?" Tim asked, arms crossed over his chest. 

"Cactus," Jason replied, wiggling it in the air like Tim was stupid for not seeing that that's what it was. "When she inevitably rips this one to pieces, it has another, smaller cactus inside. Who's the best little killer dog? You are! Good girl!"

Clark grinned. "That's good. I remember that purple cow she had that she messed up bad in the beginning. Poor Bessie."

"Wasn't that from that chocolate brand? B got it when he was in Germany for like a promo or something," Jason smirked back. He wiggled the cactus again to get Ace's attention, and then threw it. The arc it made brought Kon and his sun-room into attention, and he raised his eyebrows at the display. "Hey loverboy. You're looking particularly jacked. They keepin' you trapped in here?" He nodded toward the red light shrouding Kon in shades of crimson. 

Kon flushed, shaking his head. "Shut up, you jerk. I'm fine. What made you dare set foot in the cave today anyway?" 

"It's Ace's adoption day," Jason said, as if it was really that simple. Kon crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows like he didn't believe a word of that, but Jason shrugged. "My girl deserves the best and the best only."

"Yeah she does," Clark agreed, as Ace presented him with the already slightly slobbery cactus. "Thank you! That's very sweet of you. Give it to Jase for me."

She trotted over to Jason with obvious delight, licking him again very fondly, and barking once, like _hello, look, my human has returned_. Jason gave her a smooch on the cheek, standing up again. 

"Well, that was really all I was here for," he said as Ace bumped her nose against his hands, making him return to petting her. 

"Jason Todd!" came a sharp call from the top of the stairs. When Clark turned, Dick and Damian were making their way down the stairs, Damian with an obvious goal in mind, and Jason looked up at them, his lips twisting into a sharp grin. 

"Well, well, well! Look who made it state-side! **Salam gozo**!" Jason crowed as the two of them arrived at the bottom of the stairs, behind Clark. Damian pursed his lips, but when Jason wrapped an arm around his neck to give him a noogie, he didn't even try to kill him, just grumbled and tossed him over his shoulder in what seemed like a practiced move. 

"Shut up, Todd!" Damian exclaimed, but his flash of teeth was almost a grin, much to Clark's surprise. He knew that Jason knew Damian had existed, but the fact that they knew each other hadn't even been a possibility in his mind. The fact that they could interact so easily was a shock, to say the least. On one hand, it was baffling, because if it was two people with pushy, quick-tempered personalities, it was Jason and Damian. On the other hand, the only way they showed affection seemed to be insults and fighting, which... Yeah, that added up. 

Using the momentum of Damian's swing, Jason rolled to his feet smoothly, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Heard you were the one who drugged Alfred and tried to gut Tim a few weeks back, dweeb."

"So?" Damian snapped. Jason shrugged, but his previously casual grin turned a little sharp around the edges as Ace trotted up to him again, demanding pets. 

"Don't do it again. Alfred's the best at chess around here. And he cooks your food." His tone sent shivers down Clark's spine. 

"Alfred would never hurt you," Clark protested. 

"He's got most kills in this household of pussies," Jason pointed out, skritching under Ace's chin. "He's promised to beat Ra's ass into the ground if he ever steps foot in Wayne manor again."

"No, he hasn't!" 

"Maybe he hasn't said it to you," Jason sing-songed. "All I'm saying, Damian, is don't be stupid. Respect your elders."

"Very interesting thing to come out of your mouth, little wing," Dick said, but the look in his eyes was wild, enchanted at seeing Jason with no less than five members of their family in the same place at the same time. 

"I'm a very interesting person, Dickiebird, as you should know by now," Jason tossed back. "Why the fuck aren't you picking up your phone?"

"It's dead. I can't find my charger and Tim won't let me borrow his."

"Because yours looks like it's going to fall apart any second! It's just a tangle of wires! You're gonna get electrocuted, dude," Kon said, a hand to his forehead like he couldn't comprehend Dick's stupidity. Clark made a note to get Dick a new charger for Christmas. Possibly earlier than that, if the charger was as dilapidated as Kon implied. That was just a firehazard. 

"Also, you'd lose it absolutely immediately, and I need to charge my phone too," Tim said, frowning. "I don't trust you with any of my things."

"Smart move, probably. I still don't know where my tennis racket disappeared," Jason said. 

"You never owned a tennis racket," Clark said in confusion. 

Dick threw his hands in the air like he'd scored a touchdown, and yelled, very loudly: "Vin-di-cation!" 

The bats above them skittered, and Jason frowned. "No, I _know_ I did, and I know Dick stole it for his senior prank and never gave it back to me. B was teaching me how to play and I 'lost it' after like two weeks, and he just thought I didn't want to play!"

"Oh, is that another grievance towards him?" Tim asked sarcastically. "Are you going to attempt to murder him because of it?"

Jason tilted his head at Tim, assessing. Then he spread his hands dramatically. "Well, isn't it something worth murdering for, you think? My opportunities, stolen by my stepbrother, my ambition tampered by a overbearing parent. That's Disney movie material right there."

Ace hopped up, trying to grab the cactus in Jason's hand from him, and he tugged on it for her, making her growl.

Tim fake-smiled at him, and Dick blinked, like he had no clue this animosity was so grievous, and met Clark's eyes with a touch of alarm. Clark shrugged minutely. He had tried to give Tim time and space about the issue, but he had valid reasons to dislike Jason, and it wasn't like he could force Tim to change his mind. This particular rivalry was not on Clark's top-five list of things needing to be dealt with right now. 

"You a disney-princess, Jase?" Kon questioned with a bit of a laugh. 

"Nah, more like Rasputin I guess. Have you guys gotten around to Anastasia yet?"

"Nope. But I think we'll be catching up to it by next movie night. You should join us."

"Yeah," Dick chimed in, nudging an elbow into Damian's side. "That'd be cool, wouldn't it?"

"If we could stop watching cartoon movies for children-" Damian began, obviously ready to get riled up as hell. Clark did not have space for that, today. 

"Nope! We're getting through all the Disney classics, and then we might do the pixar ones, but before that, we're not done with family movie night," Clark said firmly. 

The doors to the elevator opened, and all heads turned towards it. Alfred stepped out, putting his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat. "Dinner is served upstairs in a few minutes. We shall sing for the birthday girl, and I have prepared a meal for the humans as well as her. However, weapons do not have any place at the dinner table, therefore I'm going to ask both Master Jason and Master Tim to leave them right here."

"Oh, I don't-" Jason began, but at the look on the butler's face, he deflated. "Jesus christ. Alright, fine, I'll stay. You know, if we get blood on the carpet, I'm not sticking around to clean it out."

"Thankfully, I am quite adept at getting bloodstains out, Master Jason. Put your knives on the computer panel, please," Alfred said primly. "Master Tim, put your gear back where it belongs."

Jason really seemed to enjoy the fact that Tim hated him so much, so he stuck his tongue out at him, just to rile him up when Tim had to go put his batarangs and bolas away. 

Kon stepped out from under the red light, and everyone waited for about thirty seconds as Kon held his hands out, like he was waiting for his powers to whack Tim again. After a moment, he relaxed. "Okay, I think I'm good. Let's go."

They made their way upstairs, Jason, Dick, Damian and Ace stuffed into the elevator with Alfred, while Clark herded Tim and Kon in front of him. Clark held his breath when all of them walked into the dining room, where Bruce was already seated at the head of the table. Clark traded a wary look with Dick, who widened his eyes for a second in mild panic, before he took his seat without preamble. 

"Jason," Bruce acknowledged. 

Jason sneered back. "Bruce."

They said no more, but Clark could feel the tension like a tangible thing, making the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Damian went to pull out his chair when Jason bumped his boot against the leg and looked away from Bruce, stopping the boy from pulling it out further. "Nuh-uh. Not your seat," he sing-songed. 

"Of course it is, Todd. I'll sit wherever I want," Damian snapped. 

"Do the math. Who's supposed to be sitting where you're standing right now?" Jason said, nodding once towards the table-setting. The rest of the room was deadly quiet, watching the scene. It was true, of sorts, that they had a seating chart. Bruce at the head, Clark, Tim and Kon to his left, with Dick and what used to be Jason's spot on the right, but that Damian had now claimed. 

Damian frowned. "You don't expect a seat at the _table_ , do you?"

"Damian," came Bruce's low, warning voice. His eyes were pinned on Jason, though, his face blank and calculating. 

"That quick to replace me twice, huh, B?" Jason taunted, leaning against the back of the chair and staring back. Clark saw Dick internally sign out of this conversation and remove himself from this situation, wishing he could do the same for the moment. 

"Oh for god's sake," Tim groaned, kicking the chair out from under the table. "Sit down, Jason. Your theatrics are like, so low level compared to what I've had to get used to at this fucking dining table. Damian, scootch one chair to your right and stop acting like we wouldn't put you away to eat in the kitchen if Clark and Dick would allow it."

"Language, Tim," Clark said sharply, just as Dick's head snapped up. 

"How could you even say that?" he began, profoundly bothered by this particular statement, and then all bets were _off_. Tim was shouting at Damian and Dick, who were shouting back, and when Kon attempted to back Tim up, Jason too scolded him, making the volume of indiscernible voices rise. Clark didn't even know how to start sorting this out, and wondered if just attempting to drown them out with his own voice would even help, at this point. 

Before he could make any sort of decision, however, he heard a snort. His head turned toward his partner, who let out a little chuckle, smacking a hand to his mouth to stifle it. Immediately, every head snapped to him, shutting up. He was obviously trying to suppress whatever giggles he had going on, and at Clark's questioning little grin, he shook his head. "I'm good. Sorry, I'm- I'm good."

"What's so funny, B?" Kon piped up from the other end of all the people. Bruce shook his head again, still trying to tamp down his laugh as Ace came up to put her head in his lap. He started petting her, pressing his other hand to his diaphram, as if that could stop him from bursting into gales of laughter. 

He shook his head again. "I just- I get all of you in a room together for the first time and you fight about who sits where? Is this musical chairs? Are you in kindergarten? I keep forgetting only two of you are actually minors."

"Well, really," Kon said, ready to argue. Bruce held a hand up to stop him in his tracks, and Conner sank back in his chair, pouting. 

"Let's not. It was a hassle getting you semi-legal papers as it was, Conner. Damian, can you for once in your life, sit down to dinner without arguing with someone? I'm honestly begging you at this point."

Tipping his nose up, Damian sat down next to Jason's empty chair, looking entirely uninterested in the proceedings. Bruce turned steel blue eyes on teal, still smiling just the faintest bit. "Jason. Sit down so we can eat and Ace can get her cupcake."

Jason stared at him for a few seconds, obviously deliberating if he wanted to be rebellious or no. After a few moments of dead silence, however, he dragged the chair back with a loud scraping sound, and sat down.

Seeing Bruce getting their kids in order made Clark hot under the collar, his neck flushing at Bruce's firm hand. He watched as Bruce's sharp eyes took one last sweep of them, before he leaned back. "Alright. Now that everyone's settled, we can sing for our birthday girl. Dick? Take it away."

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol me being a patch work writer really comes back to bite me in the ass whenever I tie together my patches and lo and behold... make an almost 7000 word chapter.... good lord.   
> Also, a family reunion, with ALL of the ones currently here! What did you guys think about it??  
> Salam gozo is farsi for 'hello you little shit' but like... in an affectionate way. Gozo means dumbass sort of, but it's not really rude if it's said to someone you know and love.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a double-chapter since... I wanted to end on a particular note and otherwise the chapter felt weird to me, so... y'know... Again with me being a silly little patch writer with my many silly little patches needing to be tied together lol  
> It's very late so I'll cast another editorial glance over this tomorrow, but if you see any glaring faults, comment and I'll fix it, thank you.  
> Hope you enjoy!!<3

There was no blood spilled that night, much to everyone's amazement. Bruce remained silent most of the dinner, watching with bright eyes as all of them interacted; Kon and Jason's teasing mellowing out Tim's sharp comments, and Dick and Jason shutting down any rude thing Damian tried to say by discussing his schooling or his art skills like the proud big brothers they were. 

It wasn't perfect, of course. Tim lobbed a bread-roll at Damian's head, but Dick caught it and ate it. Clark could see Jason glancing at Bruce every now and then with narrowed eyes, probably not liking his contemplative silence. Damian threatened to poke Kon's eyes out with his fork. All in all, however, it was amazing progress, and Clark hadn't even noticed that he was smiling like a loon and almost vibrating in his seat until Bruce's hand came down on his jiggling knee, and raised a silent eyebrow at him. 

Jason didn't stay long after dinner was over, despite some attempts at cajoling. He was edging towards the cave with every step. Since Kon was going back downstairs anyway, Jason followed along with him, ruffling Damian's hair one last time while Damian threatened to take that hand off with his knife. 

"I'll join you," Bruce said, standing up. Everyone froze, and Kon shot Clark a panicked _control your man_ kind of look. "I have to check up on Kon's bloodwork anyway."

Everything was silent for another beat, before Jason shook himself out of it, as Ace licked at his fingers, that undoubtedly still smelled a bit like the chicken they'd eaten. "Whatever. It's your house," he muttered, shooting Clark a lazy salute before he turned around and followed Kon. 

Dick was eyeing the procession with apprehension. "Is that such a good idea?" he asked the moment they were out of human earshot. 

"It's as good idea as any. Think of it as exposure therapy," Clark said, wiping around his mouth with the napkin. 

"Maybe Jason needs a little more than that," Tim muttered, already with his phone out. They had a strict no phone out at the dinner table rule, especially during family dinners, but seeing as almost half of the people had left, it seemed a little too strict to call him on it. 

"He's not going to try anything," Dick said with certainty, leaning back and wrapping an arm around the back of Jason's now empty chair. "He was just here for Ace."

"Oh please. Like Todd could best Father at anything," Damian snorted.

All the rest of them blinked. They'd sort of forgotten Damian wasn't really here for all that had gone down between them and Jason a few months ago. 

"Jason made several attempts on both Bruce and Clark's lives just when he came back to Gotham," Tim said. "He brought out kryptonite, had bullets with Clark's name on them. He blew up a building with them in it. Despite everyone else in this house conveniently forgetting that, he hasn't exactly apologized for trying to brutally murder them."

"He obviously did a shoddy job of it, anyway," Damian said, shooting Clark a disgusted look, but he was too busy having an epiphany to notice. Clark suddenly had a very clear understanding of why Tim hated Jason so very much. He'd been very young when his mother passed, but Tim has been bright all his life, known a lot more than adults think he does. He probably remembers more about it than he lets on, and Jack Drake being brutally murdered probably brought all of that to the surface. Losing any parent is hard, but losing both so young could fundamentally change a person. It's not very surprising that Tim hates the man who so tenaciously went after the only parental figures he has left. 

He grabbed Tim's forearm, rubbing his thumb over the tensed muscles there. "Hey. Tim. He didn't succeed. We're both still here. And if either of us have any say in it, we're going to be here for you for a very long time. Okay? You don't have to like Jason, but I want you to be nice. Can you please do that for me?" 

Tim chewed on that, obviously uncomfortable with having Clark say things like that. His eyes darted to his brothers, to Dick's understanding sad face and Damian's disinterested frown, before meeting Clark's again and nodding briefly.

Clark pressed a kiss to his temple, because he could, and sighed. "Can I send you down to Kon without having to worry about you and Jason fighting?"

"Yeah, fine," Tim muttered, a light blush on his cheeks as he pushed his chair back and walked out of the room, speedily. Clark sighed again, resting his chin in his hand as he looked over at his other boys. 

"Do you two have anything you want to share with the class?" he asked, tempting the universe in his tiredness. Damian furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding what Clark wanted from him, while Dick smiled tiredly and shook his head. 

"Nope. I think your boat's been rocked enough for today, pop. Why don't you go work for a bit?" 

Clark rubbed at his forehead distractedly, listening to Bruce's relaxed heartbeat and Jason's anxious one for a brief moment. "I don't know..."

"Damian's going to help Alfred pick up after dinner anyway. I can go downstairs and make sure they don't rip each other to pieces," Dick offered, as Damian rolled his eyes like a little pro. Clark focused again, and heard Jason's bike roar to life. He shook his head. 

"No need. It seems they didn't kill each other, after all," he muttered. 

Dick fist-pumped the air. "Progress! Next thing you know, we might be able to leave them alone for more than ten seconds! High five for that, Damian!"

"I don't understand your incessant need for reaffirmation, Grayson," Damian snapped, but when Dick offered a hand, obviously intended to slap his palm as hard as he possibly could. Just as he swung, however, Dick snatched his hand away to push his hair back, grinning like a mad man.

"Too slow!" Dick exclaimed, hopping out of the chair just as Damian's surprised facial expression turned into rage. He was on his feet and after him in an impressive short amount of time, running after the manically laughing Dick with a knife in hand. At least it wasn't one of his more wicked daggers, just a regular knife, plucked right off the dinner table. Dick could probably dodge that without being hurt. Yes, Clark was well aware how crazy that sounded, but he also acknowledged that his family was pretty crazy as it was. With Damian, it was all about the little victories.

"Remember your chores!" Clark called after them, contemplating actually going upstairs to try and pick up his flow again, just when Bruce entered the room again, still with the same thoughtful look on his face as earlier. 

"How are you doing, baby?" Clark asked tentatively, unsure if Bruce wanted to be snapped out of his funk or no. 

Blinking himself back from wherever he'd been, Bruce met his eyes. "How are _you_ doing?"

"A little worked up. But I think it went surprisingly well, considering how last time you and Jason were in the same place, we barely left the place alive."

Bruce snorted, sinking into his chair at the head of the table and staring down the length of it without seeing a thing.

"Yes. I would like a lot of parenting awards for thinking of getting him Ace in the first place."

At that, Clark burst out laughing, making Bruce's lips quirk as well, the tiniest bit. "Oh, would you now?" he teased, stretching a hand out towards his partner, who twined their fingers together.

"He wouldn't have shown up if it wasn't for her," Bruce said triumphantly. 

Clark rolled his eyes. "You know I hate when you act like you knew something would happen when you actually didn't. It's not like us getting Ace for him in the first place was because you knew he'd be killed, brought back to life, and that the only reason he would want to come to our house would be because of Ace. You had no clue that would happen. Admit it."

Bruce hummed, not actually admitting to anything as he brought Clark's hand to his mouth to press a kiss to his fingers. "She's a very good dog."

"Yeah. You should've seen the way she jumped on Jase when he got here." 

Again, Bruce's expression turned considering. "He likes Kon, and Damian. He enjoys teasing Tim, and Dick. If only he'd-" Bruce cut himself off, pressing his lips together. 

"If only he believed what you did?" Clark asked gently. Bruce didn't say anything to either confirm or deny, so he continued. "You know Jason's not a bad kid. He never has been. He's a survivor, of many, many things that make him very angry, but he's never been an inherently bad person. I'm not trying to justify his actions, but I need you to acknowledge that he has his reasons for acting the way he does, and for disagreeing with you. He gets along with Kon because he doesn't push, gets along with Damian because they have a lot of shared experience with bad things. He gets along with Dick because he's forgiven him for a lot of things, and can set aside, for the time being, that he's acting out. He riles Tim up because any reaction is a good reaction for him, because what he really wants is a reaction from _you_."

Bruce considered that, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "Why doesn't he want one from you?"

Clark blinked, baffled. "Bruce, baby, you've always been more fun to pick a fight with than me. You know that, right? Nine out of ten times when Jason was fighting someone, it was you, because you and he are-"

"Don't say alike," Bruce cut off sharply, a silent misery in his eyes. Clark remained meaningfully silent, raising his eyebrows at his partner. 

"Alright," he said finally, admitting defeat for the moment. "I am _beat_. How long until patrol?"

"About three hours," Bruce said, without even looking at his watch. "Want to... watch a movie?"

That startled a smile out of him. "Do I want to _watch a movie_? Smooth move, Wayne. Tryin' to get in my pants? You're gonna have to work a little harder than that."

Bruce's lips twitched in return. "Well, seduction is a big part of a long-lasting relationship, as Cosmopolitan has informed me," he agreed. "I can do you one better: Wanna watch _Titanic_ with me?"

He chuckled, pulling Bruce closer by the hand until they were both leaning with their elbows on the table, their faces close together and intimate. "Want to be the rich Rose to my poor Jack?" Clark grinned. 

"That means I live through the whole movie, I'll have you know," Bruce sniffed haughtily, and Clark stifled a laugh against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the scruff there. 

"Why don't we watch _Lord of the Rings_? That way we don't have to pay attention," Clark offered. It was one of the books Bruce had read to him back when they'd only been dating for a few months, meaning that it was perfect background noise. 

Bruce's eyes glinted, and he pressed a chaste kiss to Clark's lips before pulling him standing. "Come on then. Let's go to the movie-room. We can probably squeeze in the last movie from the trilogy and a quickie before I have to suit up." 

"You say the darndest things. Very romantic," Clark mumbled into Bruce's shoulder, pressing a kiss there as he crowded up behind his partner when they hurried out of the dining room and towards the nearest movie room with a lock. 

"Mm, you know it," Bruce hummed, his voice low and seductive. Clark would probably go to the ends of the earth, if Bruce coaxed him like that.

\---

Dick was a grown man now, and he couldn't stay at the manor forever without feeling like a grown man living in his parents' house, a feeling that was very enhanced by the fact that he'd moved out at eighteen in the first place. He was used to his own space, or at least space where Bruce _wasn't_. 

Despite their best efforts to the contrary, they still fought a surprising amount when they were in the same space together for long enough. Except now they had to make an effort to keep it out of sight of Damian, who probably wouldn't really know what to do about it, or where to side in their arguments. 

That meant they'd been reduced to furious whispers, because more than once Damian had heard their shouting and peeked into the room, and they'd have to cut themselves off and hurry into doing something very silly like arm-wrestling or sparring in the library, which was strictly forbidden. 

Thus came the day when Dick could no longer put up with "B' shitty attitude" as he so succinctly put it, and decided to go home. 

"I'll just be in Bludhaven," Dick reassured a frowning Damian as he shouldered his duffle with clean clothes. "I'll still stop by for family movie night, and you can always call, if you miss me."

"I won't miss you, Grayson," Damian snapped, but in the way Clark had now learnt meant he was just lashing out to disguise his hurt. 

"I'll miss you, baby bird. Don't question it. And I will be back." He ruffled Damian's hair, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him in to his side. "Meanwhile, promise me to go to Clark and Bruce if something's bothering you. Or if you don't want to do that, go to Alfred. Call Jason. Do _something_. Promise me."

Damian kept silent, but Dick seemed to take that as agreement. Clark hummed to agree with his son as well, opening his arms for an offer of goodbye. Bruce and Tim had said their goodbyes at breakfast, and agreed to update him on the cases they'd discussed, in a very Batman and Robin kind of way. Then they'd hurried off to WE, meaning it was only Clark, Damian and Alfred sending him off. Dick snuggled into Clark's arms, bringing a wiggling Damian with him into the embrace. 

"Just let it happen, Dames. Accept the super-warmth into your soul," Dick mumbled into Clark's shoulder as Clark wrapped one arm firmly around Dick's shoulders, and the other carefully around Damian's. He could feel the moment Damian's sharp little fingernails bit into his skin. It didn't hurt, but he could definitely feel the strength of Damian's grip. He didn't tear Clark's hand off, though his thundering heartbeat said that he probably wanted to.

"Shut up, Grayson," Damian said tightly, probably upset that Dick was leaving at all. 

"We shall see to it that Master Damian is well taken care of, Master Richard," Alfred promised, and was the next attacked in Dick's crusade for hugs. Again, Damian was squished along, and the butler gave his hair a firm pat. Damian bared his teeth when he saw Clark looking, but he only smiled softly in return.

"Yeah, I trust you, Alfie. Just wanna make sure," Dick sighed, pulling away from both Damian and Alfred. "Alright! I think I got everything. Is my bike in the garage?" 

"No, I had Master Bruce bring it out for you before he left," Alfred said, an eyebrow arched. Ah, some sweet punishment for leaving before Dick did, undoubtedly. Alfred always did find their bickering very tedious. 

Dick laughed. "Thanks, Alf. See you guys on... Saturday?"

"Sunday," Clark amended. "So Tim doesn't have to leave YJ before he wants to, but you know you're welcome anytime you want."

"Sunday it is," Dick said, with a tight grin. Yeah, him and Bruce could probably use the space. 

"Alright then. Safe journey. Let us know when you're there," Clark said, pressing a quick kiss to Dick's temple and getting a happy smooch on the cheek back.

"Bye, little D!" he called before closing the door. 

"That's _not_ my name," Damian muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Ah, don't worry about it. He likes nicknames a lot. It's why he started calling me pop in the first place. It's a sign that he likes you," Clark said with a small smile. Damian frowned up at him, and then took off into the manor. 

Alfred watched him go, and sighed softly. "We shall have to hope that we all last until Sunday."

Clark muttered his agreement, shaking his head at the now empty entrance hall. 

\---

In the middle of the night, Clark had had to dash out to India to assist with rescuing some people from a flood, and he returned to find Bruce already in bed. Maybe it was later than he thought. Time zones and all that. It was winter, and in Gotham that meant not that much sunlight, so he couldn't even check the time that way. When he opened the balcony door, Bruce cracked an eye open and tsked at Clark's muddy suit, but apparently didn't deign add more. He turned over and went back to sleep in moments, content with knowing that Clark was okay. 

Really, Clark should fly downstairs to use the cave showers, but he didn't want to be accused of tracking mud into the house by Alfred, so he hurried into the bathroom and cleaned off. He listened to the rest of the house, and heard Alfred's sleeping heartbeat, Damian's soft, silent breathing, and... Not Tim. 

Actually, when he focused, he could hear Tim's speedy heartbeat. Finally, Clark got a hold of a clock and found that it was 5:30 AM. Tim should definitely be asleep right now.

Wrapping himself in his pjs and his robe, he strode over to Tim's door and knocked. He didn't hear a 'come in', but he heard Tim mutter something to himself, so he cracked the door and peeked in. 

It looked like a filing cabinet had vomited in his room, with papers and folders everywhere, sticky notes tacked on Tim's computer screen and the desk. He was typing at the kind of speeds that madmade even Clark as a professional writer blink in astonishment. 

"Heey, Tim," Clark called softly, and Tim's whole body snapped around to stare at him. 

"Hey pops," he said, blinking a few times. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same," Clark asked, closing the door behind himself and floating so he wouldn't step on anything important. Alfred was sure to have a fit if he saw the state of Tim's room right now. 

"WE-stuff," Tim said, waving a hand around dismissively. Clark, like the investigative reporter he was, noted the grey files that weren't supposed to ever leave the cave strewn over the floor like confetti, and hummed thoughtfully. 

"Oh yeah? What WE-stuff can't be dealt with after you've gotten some sleep?" Clark asked skeptically, glancing at the names on some folders. 

"Asian market business. They're almost a whole day before us, y'know," Tim said, very seriously for someone wearing one bright green sock and a Superboy T-shirt. 

"Uh-huh. So this has nothing to do with those unsolved cases you and Bruce are working on?"

"No. What? No, not at all," Tim scoffed, but he was terrible with lying when he was dead on his feet, something he didn't seem to recognize. 

"You've got to learn to let go of things sometimes, honey. Come on, shut that down. I can see that it's a file, and actually? I wouldn't have cared if it was asian market business going on. It's five thirty. Go to bed," Clark said sternly. 

"Just a minute," Tim said turning back to his screens, and Clark put a firm hand on his shoulder. 

"Save whatever you're doing, but if you don't get in bed in less than a minute, I'm unplugging your computer."

"Clark!" Tim complained. 

"I mean it, Timmy. Go on, save it." 

He grumbled the whole time, but he saved his documents and turned his computer off, and let Clark tuck him into bed like he was ten with only minimal complaints.

\---

It became a pattern. Clark was called out in the middle of the night, and came back to find Tim muttering to himself and tapping on that computer of his. Clark would force him to bed, but would still find Tim at the breakfast-table the next morning at ten if he didn't have school, and earlier if he did. Clark was seriously concerned for Tim's health, and what he was doing wasn't working, so he decided to call in the reinforcements. 

"He's fine," Bruce said when he brought it up as they were seated in the library with tea. Clark had to grit his teeth to stop himself from screaming out loud right then and there. 

"He _isn't_ ," he said, and his tone made Bruce look up from his book. "Listen, Mr. Workaholic, I know you can't see it because you have your darn blinders on when it comes to this, but I know. I can see it. You need to do something, because he isn't listening to me."

"It's getting that bad?" Bruce questioned, eyebrows furrowing. 

"Yes!" Clark exclaimed. "I don't think I've seen him sleep more than three hours a night during school nights, and then he goes to Young Justice, and I know they stay up late too, because Red Tornado told me. He's going to hit a wall soon, I know it. We need to do something."

"Stopping him from being Robin is only going to make him mad," Bruce pointed out. 

"So make him mad! If I say he's benched for a week and you don't back me up, he's not going to take either of us seriously. You're the one in charge of that part of him. I can't tell him to stop all willy-nilly if you don't agree."

Bruce considered that for a moment. "He can't be in Gotham, then, if it's that bad already."

Clark nodded. "We'll give him some options, but we need to get him away from this, just for a little bit. It looked like he was attempting to assemble a conspiracy in his room. What he needs is some fresh air, somewhere without these kinds of responsibilites."

"Okay," Bruce agreed, entwining their fingers. "We'll figure it out. Don't worry about it." 

Clark cornered him at the breakfast table the next morning. He smacked the newspaper down on the table, making Tim jerk and blink rapidly, pulling his coffee mug closer to himself. 

He sat down opposite to him, picked up a glass of orange juice. "Good morning Timmy!"

"Morning," Tim muttered. 

"I know you've been working hard a lot lately. Maybe a little too hard. I think what you need, is a break," Clark declared. "Some time to do whatever the heck you want. Do you want to travel? Play video games for a week straight? Whatever it is, it's free game."

Tim looked hesitant. "I don't know... I can't leave Bruce to go at Gotham on his own."

"You can take a single vacation. I promise you, you deserve a little break. Oh! How about a week or two at the farm? You can hang out with Kon, get some fresh air. I know you city-slickers can't understand the good of some manual labor, but I know Ma would love to have you," Clark said, knowing down to his bones that the Kents at the farm would be thrilled to have Tim with him for a whole week. 

Ma always loved when the kids came out to see her. Dick was a pretty frequent visitor when he had a stressful time. He'd trained one of the horses to allow him to use her like a pommel, and always slept at least one night in the barn, much to Ma's loving exasperation. When he was little, Jason had always spent his days out in the cow pastures, returning late in the evening exhausted but calm. 

"That sounds like a good idea," came Bruce's voice from behind them. Tim whipped around, consternation on his face. 

"Scarecrow's on the loose right now, and you want me to go to _Kansas_?" Tim asked, mortally offended in that way only teenagers managed to sound like. 

"Everyone needs a vacation, Tim," Bruce said. "There's always going to be a reason for you not to go. You might as well go now that you can."

"When was the last time you were on vacation?" Tim accused. 

Bruce pursed his lips. "Certainly before Jason's return. Clark?"

"We spent that weekend in Arizona, at that resort. Enchantment Resort?" Clark agreed, putting his chin in his hand. "We were better at taking vacations when Dick was a kid, but we try. You've been on vacation with us, Tim."

"When?!" 

"We went to Six Flags," Bruce pointed out, moving to sit at the table with them. "Kon was there. You remember."

"That was a vacation?" Tim asked. "I thought it was..."

"Well, it's hard to take vacations when you're needed a lot. But we want you to at least try. Just one week at the farm. Okay? If it'll make you feel better, I'll ask Dick to come patrol with him once or twice."

"You don't need to do that," Bruce argued. "What's this attack on my character? I can't handle a week of going out alone?"

"No," Tim and Clark said in unison. Clark grinned at Tim, who smiled tentatively back. 

"I'll talk to Dick," Tim offered. "Is Ma okay with it?"

"She'll be thrilled," Bruce said, with no room for negotiation. 

\---

Ma _was_ thrilled, and Kon peppered their every phone call with gushing about how nice it was for Tim to come and liven up boring old Smallville. It was a relief that Tim could still attempt to relax a bit, even though Clark knew he checked in with Bruce every morning, wanting to know details of cases. He'd given Bruce a stern talking-to about giving their kids healthy boundaries with the Mission so they could continue it for him, and Bruce had restrained Tim's access to the cave computers for the week, meaning Clark recieved a lot of huffy emails from him with a lot of angry emoticons. 

Of course, with Dick back in Bludhaven and Tim in Kansas, that meant the only child currently in the house was Damian, who managed to amuse himself so quietly that they only saw him at mealtimes. He trained in the cave a lot, with Bruce keeping an eye on him, but most of the time, he kept to himself. He must have known that Clark listened to him though, because when he made a break for it, he didn't do it by halves. 

Damian had managed to record his heartbeat on Clark's recording device he used for interviews with work. He'd set it on speaker mode, left it in his room and snuck into the cave, where Bruce had been notably absent for the moment. He'd been helping Alfred deal with some bills in the kitchen, and it was only when Clark went to offer him a snack that the trick had been discovered. 

"I'll get ready," Clark said, about to spin into his suit before Bruce grabbed his arm. 

"No. This is between Damian and me. Stay home."

"I think I'd go faster if I could just-"

"I have my suspicions about what's going on," Bruce interrupted. "Gotham is my domain. Stay. Here."

Clark frowned, but time was of the essence. "I don't agree with this, at all."

Bruce growled in frustration. "Please, Clark." 

"Fine, but I want it noted that I-" Bruce cut him off with a brief, desperately thankful kiss, before striding towards the cave very decisively. Clark huffed, displeased, but followed him downstairs, arms crossed the whole way down. "How can I help, then?"

"Stay here with Alfred. If I'm not back in... Two hours, you have my permission to look for us."

Clark mimed the word 'permission' sarcastically behind his back, and floated down the stairs next to Bruce, just to be petty.

Dick's old Nightwing bike was missing. Clark probably wouldn't have noticed if Bruce hadn't paused while looking at the vehicles on the platform beneath them, before suiting up and taking off in less than five minutes, a record on his part. With the recording turned off, Clark attempted to focus on Damian's heartbeat and came up with... nothing. It was startling to say the least, and the fact that that speedy little thrumming had been his favorite sound recently only made it worse. Even with Dick's old bike, he couldn't have gotten that far. Wayne Manor was on the outskirts of town, and the cave entrance jutted out on the other side of the hill it was built on, meaning that Damian had probably never seen that part of town before either. For Clark not to notice, he'd had to have rolled the bike a ways into the tunnels out too.

Alfred came downstairs, his face perfectly impassive. However, Clark had become very adept at reading the body language of all of his bats, and while Alfred would deny it, he was indeed the biggest baddest bat of them all. The tightness of his fists behind his back betrayed his worry, as well as the slight furrow of his forehead. 

"That foolish boy," Alfred muttered when he saw Clark, and whether he was talking about Damian or Bruce was anyone's guess. He proceeded to turn on Bruce's cowl feed, and they watched in silence as Bruce went, with clear determination, towards something.

When he opened a door to a rooftop, it was to a gathering of people, all in dark clothing. The majority of them were wrapped up in the black cloth and red sashes that Clark associated with the League, except for two: Damian, who was wearing slacks and a turtleneck, and Talia, who was wearing some sort of maroon leather outfit.

"Talia," came Bruce's snarl over the comms, and his tone made the hair on the back of Clark's neck stand up. That explained why he couldn't hear Damian's heartbeat, then. Talia and her tricks. 

"Beloved," Talia said, a cocksure smile on her face. "How kind of you to join us. Now, why don't we-"

"This isn't a negotiation," Bruce interrupted her. Talia's smile turned sharp around the edges.

"The league is mine," came Talia's strong, ringing voice through the cave speakers. "Damian can be safe with me again. I've come to take him home with me."

"No," Bruce snapped. "He can never be safe with you again, because _you_ aren't safe."

Talia scoffed. "This was a temporary arrangement, beloved. You knew that I would be back for him."

"I never agreed to give him back. And I won't leave here without him." 

Talia sneered, and for a moment, Clark was struck by how alike Damian could be his mother. "It shall be up to Damian, then. Would you rather stay with me, or go with your father?" she murmured, her hand on Damian's shoulder. Clark held his breath, watching Damian's eyes dart between his parents. 

"Do I have to choose? I would much rather we were all together," he said, softer than anything Clark had ever heard the boy say before. 

"Yes, Damian," Bruce said, his voice surprisingly gentle for him being in costume. When Clark listened to the usually calm crawl of his heart, it sounded faster than usual, nervous. "You have to choose. I wish it wasn't that way."

Something strange flashed over Talia's face at Bruce's tone. Maybe Damian hadn't shared too much of how he'd liked it, staying with all of them. Of course, Clark was pretty sure he hated all of them, except for Dick, who didn't live with them, and maybe Alfred. Next to him, he could see Alfred's fingertips pressing into the computer panel as they all waited with bated breath for Damian's choice. 

The boy again glanced between his parents. Talia's smile had slipped off her face, and she took hold of Damian's other shoulder gently, squeezing once. "Damian, habibi. You can go home with me. We can be safe, now."

Damian nodded, and Talia's smile returned. At least until Damian turned his head back towards Bruce. "I want to go with father." 

Clark gasped, and it seemed even Bruce was surprised by this, if his stuttering heartbeat was any indicator. "Okay. Come on, then," he said, his voice gruff. 

Maybe Talia's hold on the League was more tenuous than she thought, or maybe it was too tight, tight enough that her followers saw this as an offence. Either way, the moment Damian took one step away from them, one of the assassins threw a throwing star, right at Bruce's face. 

He dodged, and tossed a bola at the offending party. The other four ninjas moved towards the threat, but Bruce charged forward as well, obviously wanting to get Damian out of there, as an unarmed party. Talia unsheathed two ornate daggers from somewhere on her person, baring her teeth at Bruce's approach. He was mowing his way through them on his way towards her and Damian, shoving his elbow into an assassins face and kicking him in the gut. 

In his haste to get Damian out of the danger-zone, one of the assassins shoved him behind himself, not accounting for the low edge of the roof. It came up right behind Damian's knees, and he fell head-first backwards over the edge of the building with a surprised shout. 

"No!" Bruce and Talia yelled in unison. Bruce threw another ninja over his shoulder before rushing over to the edge, and Clark held his breath until a dazed Damian was in view, lying on a grid-floored balcony two floors down. 

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked sharply, and got a short nod, before he turned back to the battle, only to find that the ninja responsible, with a dagger in his larynx, was the only other person on the rooftop.

\---

Clark reflected on the fact that all of their children were bad patients, something they undoubtedly got from their dad. It had struck Clark as strange that other patients weren't nearly as sedated as their own were in Alfred's sick bay, but then again... Troublesome patients. Case in point being Damian, who had, despite his very fortunate landing, managed to acquire a minor head-injury and some bruised ribs, both of which he kept aggravating as he argued with Bruce all the way home to the manor. Alfred had practically strapped him to the sick bed and dosed him. Bruce had been sitting with him for quite some time now, probably expressing his rage and sincere, absolute disappointment that Damian had gone out alone to meet his mother, without permission, back-up, or even letting them know. 

Clark doubted Damian would enjoy the scolding, but then again, Dick, Jason and Tim had had similar experiences where they'd snuck out without permission as younguns to do their Robin-ing. It was always dangerous, always would be, but Talia was a whole different monster, a whole different risk, someone who always managed to drive Bruce up the wall. Clark would've been threatened by her, if he couldn't read Bruce's body language like his own favorite book. All Talia ignited in him now was anger and annoyance. Despite her wiles, she only bothered him at this point. She would never hold a candle to Bruce's affection for Clark, and she'd realized that over the years, becoming sharper and meaner every time Bruce returned home to him, instead of her. 

At the sound of the clock opening, Clark was snatched out of his reverie, and he looked up from where he was sitting in Bruce's cushy reading chair with his book to see his partner standing there. Bruce rubbed his own face tiredly, but brushed by him on his way out of the study, placing a sneaky kiss on his temple. Okay then, not that mad now that he'd had time to organize and probably yell a little bit. Time for clean-up, Clark thought as he got up from his comfy chair and stepped through the clock. 

Clark didn't know when he'd become the gentle parent. It was more inherent to his nature than it was to Bruce's, he supposed. Bruce liked to be blunt, liked decisive answers and sharp retorts. It was why their Robins were witty, were quick and knew what they were doing, despite being so young. While Bruce would provide a band-aid when they were in need, Clark kissed it, asked their Robins if they felt okay without Batman in the room. 

It was a system that they'd developed early on with Jason, who would never admit his weaknesses unless gently pressed by Clark's worried eyes. It further helped when Tim would go on binges and attempt to solve every crime in Gotham at once, to impress and appease Bruce. The system meant that Clark could coax him to bed, tuck him in and tell him he was doing great as Robin, that he had nothing to prove, when Bruce was unable to say that on his own. 

He wasn't sure the same could be said for how Damian would react. That didn't mean that Clark wasn't going to try.   
When he settled in the chair next to the bed in the cave, Damian cracked a suspicious eye open. They looked a little tinged with red, like Bruce's rant had hurt him, and that made Clark's heart sink a little. It bothered him that Damian didn't respond to kindness, only to anger. 

"Hi there, champ. How are you feeling?" Clark asked. He considered petting back Damian's sweaty hair, but felt like Damian's teeth might make an appearance, so he just settled into the chair a little more comfortably. 

"Go 'way," Damian muttered, eyes closing again but with a furrow between his eyebrows. 

"I know your dad probably chewed you out for going out without him, but I also know you've heard enough of that for now. When Dick was laid up when he was little, I'd usually tell him all about Justice League adventures that we'd gone on before he showed up, and about Kryptonian legends I'd heard from my AI. With Jason, I'd read him Jane Austen. When it's Tim, I usually just read an entire book on a subject I know he knows about and we talk about that until he falls asleep. I don't know what you'd find mindlessly entertaining, though, which makes this difficult. So, what do you want, little birdie?"

"Go ' _way_."

Clark considered that, and took another look at the sweep of Damian's eyelashes, how tiny he looked, curled up in that bed. No, he couldn't do that. 

"Hm. Maybe the Tim-way for now, then, until we've figured it out. You know, I recently read this article about children of divorce," Clark said, and Damian glared at him from underneath heavily sedated eyelids. "It said that they hate their parents’ new partners, usually. And that it's a way for them to cope with the grief they're experiencing, to channel their frustration."

"I do hate you," Damian mumbled, surprisingly clear. 

Clark nodded. "And if that helps you cope with how your parents are acting right now, I'm willing to let that be the case. I think, if you spent a little more time with me and got to know me, it wouldn't be quite this bad, but I know you like to hold grudges, since it's a quaint habit of your dad's, so I'm willing to let it take some time."

"He's jus' keepin' you close," Damian mumbled again, "so y' can't hurt anyone."

"Ah, the good ol' 'keep your enemies closer' defense? Hm. Good counterpoint. You wanna hear something interesting about how your father and I started dating?" Damian squinted at him, and Clark leaned forward, closer than before. "Your dad asked Clark Kent out as Bruce Wayne because he thought I had a cute laugh and asked pertinent questions about his charities." 

Damian's eyes widened, and so did Clark's smile. "Yeah. World's greatest detective had no clue, and I had no clue he was Batman. On our second date, I had to leave to go fight Lex Luthor, and your dad followed me to the restroom because I made such an abrupt exit and he thought he’d done something to upset me. He caught me changing into my Superman costume, and threw a batarang at me without thinking. He wouldn't talk to me for two whole weeks after that, but if you're asking me, I think he just needed to nurse his bruised pride."

He thought back to those precarious few months of knowing Bruce Wayne was the man behind the mask, of the two of them building a shaky truce that involved Clark never setting his foot in Gotham again. Them becoming friends with Diana and working together as a team to assemble the Justice League, and after a particularly trying mission where they'd argued with each other about strategy more than actually punching anything, how Bruce had pushed him up against a wall and kissed the life out of him. Never let it be said Bruce didn't know how to do dramatic gestures. 

"My point is... You can get off on the wrong foot and still get along fine later. Every grudge doesn't have to be to the death."

"It does," the little boy croaked defiantly. 

Clark snorted. "If you're thinking you're the most difficult child I've ever had in my care, you're wrong, kiddo." Damian stared at him in sheer disbelief, and Clark let out another little chuckle. "Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. You’ll just try to make things even harder. But the truth is, you'll never top Kon on a rampage, which I'm not very sorry to say. Maybe you'll give Jason a run for his money. Or maybe Dick. His childhood was very exciting, let me tell you. We were practically kids ourselves when we took him in."

"Don' care," Damian said mulishly, but he hadn't turned away, was still watching Clark with disguised interest.

Clark took a deep, calming breath. "It's already rough enough as it is, being new and the youngest, wouldn't you say?We're all very happy that you chose to stay with us tonight, but I know you’re having a hard time, being so far away from what you consider home, being tossed into this whole family with people who already know and love each other. Just know that while I may not understand, I'm understanding." 

Damian's face turned carefully blank at that, and Clark sighed again, because trust al-Ghuls and Waynes to have overlapping issues, and hatch a little bird with double the issues.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Damian. You deserve love and faith just because you exist, not because you're fulfilling a legacy, or walking in someone else's footsteps. You don't have to be Robin, or become Batman for that matter, to have a seat at our table. All that is asked is that you also give your love and faith to our family. Nothing else. Trust that if your dad says you shouldn't have gone out, it's because he wants to protect you, not because he thinks you don't know what you're doing. Okay?"

The boy's little face had turned from blank to frowning, which in Clark's book was better. He would always prefer annoyance to blankness, which many would find funny considering the crowd he kept around. 

"Why're you here?" Damian asked, though he didn't sound as upset anymore.

Clark smiled at that. "Big question there. To make your dad seem like more of an asshole, probably. It's what Dick always says. I like to think I'm here because the Earth needs me, and if not that, then it's because your dad needs me to stay sane. You weren't here when he was more of an asshole than he is now, but let's say the world's a better place when he's not alone so much."

There was the rustle of the curtains sectioning off the infirmary of the cave, and Alfred stepped through, closing them behind him. "Lies and slander in my own home," he said poshly. "I raised that boy to an impeccable young man, Master Clark."

Clark raised his hands, grinning. "Of course, Alfred. I would never question you. You know I love and appreciate your work."Alfred huffed, raising one eyebrow at Clark while fiddling with the drip next to Damian's bed. "Yes, so I have been told. Please inform Master Bruce that dinner will be served in twenty minutes, and that he has fifteen minutes to calm down and present a respectable front."

"Of course, Alfred," Clark agreed, standing up. He winked at Damian. "Think about it, champ."

Despite Damian staying silent, Clark felt dark eyes tracking him all the way out of the cave.

\---

The passing of Jack Drake hit Tim hard, sure. It was his dad, after all, after everything that had happened. But it was a different heartache, losing family and losing friends. When Steph dies, they're in shock. She was so young, and she'd really been improving under Barbara and the Birds of Prey's tutelage. Her Spoiler hood takes up residence in the Hall of Ghosts, as Dick jokingly calls their memorial. Clark hugs Tim to his side more, comforts Babs when she does cry, and thinks about Steph's poor baby girl, destined to never know her biological mom. 

It's surreal, when Kon passes. He's Kryptonian, like Clark. He's supposed to be the one they have to worry about the least, but he disappears into the dark like he never existed at all. Ma cries, and Clark cries with her. Their lost boy, never even getting his chance at growing up for real. Bruce soothes him whenever Clark wakes up from nightmares where Kon falls to his death, only to wake up and remember that he's gone, but it's hard. The fact that their losses were only a few months apart adds to the heartbreaking grief. 

With Bart gone too, Tim is unraveling a bit more every day and Clark doesn't even know where to start to patch him up. Bruce says that he'll pull through, but Clark has never seen that look in Tim's eyes before, doesn't even think he's seen it in Bruce at his worst. It's scary, to see Tim laugh on beat, like he's a talking doll with a string, to see how the moment people look away, his face just goes blank. He knows they have to stop him from breaking apart, but he doesn't know how. He doesn't know where to start. Dick has lost another brother, Clark has lost another son. 

Safe to say, the Waynes are having a rough year. Bruce and Clark don’t make it to Paris before something else goes horribly, horribly wrong.

\---  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think happens next?? Only time will tell, but give me your best guesses ;)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your sweet encouragements!! It makes me thrilled to write when I get such cool commenters ;) Also, a lot of you guys guessed right last chapter! I also realized that I've had it in the tags this whole time lol. Now, prepare to suffer >:) See the end notes for trigger warnings (though it's already in the tags)  
> Enjoy! <3

Losing Bruce is…. 

It's a lot of things that words can't really encompass. Clark compared losing Jason to losing a limb, but this is... different. He's been split in two, a few times during his life. It feels a bit like that. Or, if he's going to draw inspiration from the Disney they've been watching, like someone's peeled his shadow away from him. Like half a person. Like Bruce took his vitals organs with him, when he disappeared in a flash. Like less than that. Like more than that. 

Clark doesn’t remember a lot of the first time afterwards. He remembers crying out, the moment playing out on a loop as he saw with paralyzing fear again and again when Bruce disappeared. He vaguely recalls Diana yelling his name and pulling him back, though he nearly overpowered her in his struggle to go wherever Bruce was. He barely remembers, even if had to be less than twenty four hours later, handing Dick the cape and the cowl, snapping at Jason to back off, and disappearing into the sky, himself. 

Since then he's been in limbo, sort of. He knows he drifted around the earth for a bit, but he knows that's not where he is now. Clark doesn't remember much of anything, actually. He hasn't eaten, hasn't slept, hasn't felt cold or heat, for quite some time if he had to guess. 

He's at the Fortress of Solitude, he realizes as he rubs his cheek against cold, metallic gleaming floors. Once he grasps that, he takes a breath. That was a mistake. Suddenly he's thrown back into his body like an electric jolt, his senses overloading as he understands, for a brief moment, that Bruce is _gone not here never coming back_. The grief is staggering, makes him unable to think, to function, to breathe. When Jor-El warns him his respiratory and heart rate is elevated for even a Kryptonian, he presses his face into the floor, cradling his ribcage with as much pressure as he can manage as the world greys out around him and… probably having a panic attack. 

His emergency contact list (because Bruce insisted, because _what if I can’t contact you and there’s something wrong with the kids? What if your fortress gets attacked, what if I can’t help you, what if you slip and fall and manage to crack your skull open on your shiny, futuristic floors, stop laughing at me Clark, I’m serious_ ) consists of Bruce, the Batcave, and the JL. Meaning it’s Diana that drops down next to him on the floor an indeterminate amount of time later, unwinds his arms from around his ribs and forces him to breathe. 

Once he manages a breath, it turns into a sob, and he cries like a baby, wrapped up in Diana’s strong arms. 

"Kal," she said, but it's not the voice he wants, not the soothing rough hands on his face he's looking for. Diana's firm hands prodded him sitting, and when their gazes met, he took comfort in the depth of her blue eyes, used her as a shore to protect him from the crushing waves of his grief.

"Diana," he gasped, still hyperventilating. 

"Kal. You cannot go on like this. I let you have your space because I believed it to be best for you and your family to grieve together, but know that I cannot let this destruction continue," she said, her usually so strong voice wavering. 

He sniffled, and wiped at his face, feeling the chilly sting of the air inside the Fortress against his wet cheeks all of a sudden. "I-I know."

With sympathy clear on her face, Diana brushed a hand over his disheveled hair. "I have spoken to Alfred. He was relieved to hear you were still alive, though quite mad you hadn't contacted him. I pledged to bring you home, which now seems like a more momentuous task than I thought."

Clark tried to chuckle at that, but it sounded wrecked and awful to even his own ears. Diana's cherry red lips twisted into a worried frown, and she helped him get up on shaky legs. "I- how long-?"

Diana lead him over to a chair, and disappeared to get a glass of water from somewhere. It was almost too cold in his mouth. His senses seemed to be coming and going, something he hadn't had a problem with since puberty. "It's been a while," Diana said with a tight smile. "I thought you were _home_ , safe, with your family, not trying to kill yourself in your stupid fortress."

"I do not appreciate the insult," came Jor-El's tight, displeased voice. 

Diana bared her teeth at the ceiling in clear warning. "How long have you hidden him here?"

"I have not hidden Kal-El."

"Answer my question!" Diana snarled, her strong hand never leaving Clark's shoulder. 

"He has been here for four weeks, three days, eleven hours, and-"

"Goddess," Diana murmured, blinking down at him. "That answers some questions, at least. Can you fly?"

"I-" Even with some water, Clark's voice was rough and unused. He cleared his throat, feeling as weak and powerless as if Kryptonite was pressed to his skin. "No. I don't-" 

Diana nodded, no judgement on her face. "Then I will help. Come." Again, she helped him standing, and pulled his arm over her shoulders, wrapping her arm around his waist like he was a limpet. He felt a bit like one when she stepped off the floor, testing how his weight was distributed. He tried to help a little, but it was really like being a teenager again, unable to control his most basic powers and not really sure what to do about it. Thinking about Kon brought a pain so sharp it felt like being sliced open, and he let Diana take off with him, slowed down by him awkwardly clinging to her side. 

In what felt like no time, the familiar rooftop of the manor came into view, and Diana flew into the cave entrance, zooming through the long winding corridor towards the batcave. 

It was silent, and empty. That felt wrong to think about, but fitting somehow. The monitor was turned off, only the necessary lights on over the different levels. Diana guided him into the elevator and they appeared behind the bookcase in the study, which was also empty and dark. In a daze, Clark noticed when Dick opened the door, relief on his face for a moment until he took him in for real. 

"Pop," he said, baffled and raw. 

"I found him like this. In the Fortress," Diana divulged. They exited the study, and Diana and Dick had a whispered, sharp conversation. Clark was barely paying attention, suddenly exhausted from the travel and the standing and the conscious breathing. 

"-only for four weeks," Diana said. "I don't know where he was before that."

Clark focused on Dick's hand in his own hair, tugging at the dark strands. He could feel his eyes scanning over Clark incredulously. He knew he had to stand up, couldn't keep leaning on Diana. He was going to, he was, he- 

He couldn't.

"-wouldn't surprise me. I know we checked there, but I guess we should've asked Jor-El to keep us in the loop. He's very annoying like that."

Diana made a noise of agreement, jostling him when she took a new grip on his arm around her shoulders and pulled, righting him. "I don't think he's gotten much sleep, or food. Why don't you go ask Alfred to make something for him to eat?"

"Yeah, I can do that," Dick muttered. "Two doors down to the right."

Diana reassured him she knew the way, and walked him over to their door. Untangling her arm from around his waist, she tugged the handle down, and pushed the heavy door open. 

Clark tensed. 

"Kal?" Diana asked hesitantly. He didn't hear her, sliding his arm off her shoulders as he moved into the room on his own, hovering only just above the threshold. 

The smell of Bruce is still in their sheets. Their room stands untouched, like Jason's did for so long after. Clark is sure Diana said something else, but it feels like he's underwater, only thing keeping him from drowning being that wonderful aroma, like coffee and his expensive conditioner, his aftershave. He floats after it, rolling himself in their heavy sheets, and just breathes. 

Clark hears people come and go, but he's occupied with inhaling every molecule of reassurance, too tired to look at them and too awake to fall asleep. Alfred gets him to drink some water through sheer stubbornness, but he doesn't want to leave. Nobody can make him, not really. Only Diana is strong enough, and he can get her to leave him alone. 

Eventually, Bruce's scent disappears too. Clark stays where he is. 

\--- 

Mostly, he lays in their bed and breathes. On days where the room doesn't feel like a danger, he crawls out of bed to look out the window for a while, sitting in Bruce's chair by the old vanity that used to be his mother's, and listens to the rain. Dick used to come sit in that chair, in the beginning. Talk to him about his day, and his nights. He's made Damian Robin. Clark doesn't think it was such a good idea, but he couldn't dredge up enough energy to tell him that. The only one who comes now is Alfred, who cleans the room very loudly, and sometimes brings him food. He doesn't eat it. He's not hungry.

Clark has seen Bruce's last will and testament, which signs over everything he ever owned to his kids, Dick getting the Manor and custody of Damian (because they never got married, because Clark couldn't even be his domestic partner without a WE-prenup, because the Supreme court declared it legal and Bruce said _I don’t want to rush a wedding just for the press, Clark. I want it to be real, just us_ which in hindsight feels a lot less sweet and a lot more impractical) and Tim getting his company. He's heard from Dick's stories that the executor of the will was pretty much baffled as to how he's supposed to divide it up, and that he's told him to take his time, that they're handling it in the family without issue. Clark gets nothing except a hole in his heart, but he knows that there are a lot of caveats built into Bruce's will. No wonder the executor of the will is having a hard time. After Jason, he's built in more back up plans everywhere.

Some days, Clark listens to the rest of the manor. He listens to Alfred dishing pans and pots, listens to Tim's focused muttering. He hears Dick and Damian bicker, and disappear in the batmobile, into the night. They're fine. They're handling it. 

Clark knows that he isn't handling it very well. He's listening to Alfred telling Damian that taking Ace for a walk will be a good time to get some fresh air, but he's snatched out of it by Dick's loud, angry voice. 

"-don't care that you hate me, he's a goddamn ghost, Jason!" Dick snapped, that temper of his rearing its ugly head. "He hasn't left the bed in weeks. He's so out of it I wonder if he can even hear us! He's pale like he's anemic, and he might as well be! I wouldn't know, because I can't drag him out of bed long enough to get him to eat something."

"Gonna tell me he sparkles in the sun, too?" Jason taunted.

"I wouldn't know! I haven't able to get him outside since he got back!" Dick shouted. "Stop brushing this off, you fucker! Pop needs _help_ and he won't listen to me, or Alfred. I tried having Dinah come over and talk to him but he just said no thanks and shut his bedroom door in my face. Ma says to give him time, but she's too tired to come talk to him so she can't see what he's like. Diana gave him a talking to, but when she tried to pull him out of bed, he tried to take her arm off like a fucking animal. I don't know what to do, Jase, and Tim is too busy being a busybody to do anything but scour his fucking mythical texts! I-" Dick's voice cracked, and Clark felt hot, silent tears track down the side of his face, one dribbling over the bridge of his nose. 

He knew he was giving Dick trouble. That's all he felt good for, nowadays. A wash out. Too devastated by losing his other half to do any good. He wasn't actually sure the last time he'd put his costume on. Probably that awful, fateful fight. He wasn't sure when he'd even be able to look at it again without thinking of Bruce's last hard shove out of the way like a phantom pressure on the sigil of his house.

"Please. _Please_ come home," Dick whispered. 

Jason was silent, and there was a click, like he'd hung up. Dick stayed where he was for a while, just breathing, before throwing the phone down in its cradle with force. 

_I should get up_ Clark thought, but when he tried, his head felt too heavy to lift, even for the strongest man in the world. He let it collapse back onto his pillow, and felt new tears chasing the others, despite how hard he pressed his eyelids together. 

\---

Clark was never really sure how much time passed between him being awake and being asleep. The clock on the nightstand was unplugged, and had been for quite some time now, when the buzzing from it had irritated him. He knew that it was night, though, as he felt a little bit more drained than usual. However that was possible. He knew the difference between when the sun was out and when it wasn't, and for now, the sun was down. 

The sound of the door opening and closing with a soft snick made Clark stir, and he twisted in the blankets so he was facing the door, even when his eyes were closed. 

"Hey pop," came someone's soft voice. The bed dipped, and Clark cracked an eye open to see Jason tearing his leather jacket off. He smelled like sweat, and the zing of having stood in a Zeta tube recently. He kicked his boots off just as Clark made an inquiring noise. "Well. You made poor little Dickiebird quite upset. And the more he's upset, the more he nags me. The more he nags me, the madder I get. The madder I get, the more things go boom. I thought it'd be in all of our best interests for that not to happen. Technically, I am not here and this is not happening, because we? Are _not_ on speaking terms."

Clark hummed, just as Jason managed to unclasp his thigh holster and all the weapons in it, throwing it to the floor carelessly. Finally, he tore off his chest armor, revealing only a dark t-shirt underneath. After a moment, Jason took a deep breath, and tipped back on the bed. 

Clark blinked as Jason wiggled around, trying to get comfortable, even when he had a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face. Even in his tired state, he was still just a little faster than Jason. 

He yelped as Clark yanked the covers out from under him, and instead threw them over him, using a foot to curl around Jason's ankle and tug him into his lair of blankets. 

"Jesus," Jason muttered, but when Clark lifted an arm, he rolled in under it, tucking his head under Clark's chin and his shoulder into his chest. Clark let the covers drop, and curled an arm around Jason's other side, effectively trapping him in his blanket cocoon. 

"Hi," Clark said, his voice rough with disuse. 

"Hi," Jason said, bonking his forehead against Clark's throat like he was a cat and only knew how to show affection through headbutts. It was very like Jason at twelve, who had always wanted some sort of contact but had been very, very bad at asking for it. 

"What're you doing here?" 

"Like I said. Dick is pissed. You're obviously a fucking wreck. Even Alfie looks like he's having a rough time, and when he's showing it, that means it's _bad_."

Clark hummed thoughtfully. "And how're you?"

Jason took a deep breath. "Royally pissed off at all of you. I'm mad. And angry."

"Synonyms, Jase."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Clark agreed. "Why are you _here_ , here?"

"It's what you let me do," Jason muttered, not pretending like he didn't understand what Clark was talking about, fingers of one hand tangling into the edge of Clark's sleep-shirt. "When I was upset when I was little. I didn't appreciate it enough then."

"Mm. Just enough," Clark murmured back, pressing a kiss to Jason's soft hair.

Jason remained silent for quite some time, and Clark considered going to sleep again, just enjoying the company of his second son, the one who was always so hard to get a grasp on. Yet here he was, here because Dick called, still coming to his family when they needed him. Or at least, come when Dick needed him. He doubted he'd do the same for Tim. 

"You know, I never thought I'd be back here. Maybe to blow it up, but that seemed a little gratuitous, in the end," Jason murmured. 

"You'd have to time it right," Clark pointed out sleepily. "So Ace wasn't home."

"Huh. Yeah, that's true. And Alfred. Though I'm sure he'd be very mad at me if I did blow this place to bits, no matter how satisfying it might be."

"I would be mad too," Clark murmured. 

"Would you, pop?" Jason asked, tilting his head just enough that Clark could see his teal eyes in the dark. "It doesn't seem to me that you're having very much of any feeling right now. When was the last time you got out of bed?"

"I don't know."

"That doesn't concern you? Like, at all?" Clark shrugged, and Jason sighed. "Okay. So. Not to like, be an ass- Actually, I'm going to be an ass." He poked Clark, hard, in the ribcage. "You need to get out of fucking bed and stop worrying your goddamn kids. You're allowed to grive, but take it like a fucking parent and at least suck it up enough to hide it from your kids. I've seen enough of this bullshit in Crime Alley. I know you're a better dad than that." 

"Apparently not," Clark said, a lump in his throat. 

"Yes, you are, fucker. I know you are, because I've tried to _kill_ you and you're literally letting me cuddle in your bed with you," Jason groaned, punching him lightly in the ribcage again. "Anybody can tell you how stupid that is, and you let me come see Ace even when you knew B would be mad, and I- Shut up. You're a good dad. Now, _act like one_."

Clark closed his eyes, and wrapped his one arm tighter around Jason, well and truly snuggling him. He heard Jason's breaths even out, and after a while, his heartbeat too. 

It was the first time he woke up rested in quite some time, though the bed was empty next to him. A red batarang rested on his nightstand, like a calling card.

\--- 

Not doing anything all day gives him time to think. He thinks a lot about what Jason said. When they lost him, he had Bruce to lean on. And then they had Dick, who was trying to help them get back to themselves in his own way. Most of all, what helped them heal was Tim, though. He was very good at elbowing his way in, making Bruce as mad as he was fascinated. Clark just enjoyed seeing any sort of animation in Bruce's features at all. He leaned a lot on Ma too, though he knows from Dick that she's busy.

When Clark makes it out of bed one day, he stares at the golden door handle like it was too hot to touch. He listens to the rest of the house, hears Alfred close the kitchen door with the jingling of Ace's collar following him out. He hears Dick wrestle Damian into a hat before they leave the house. All he can hear then, is the muttering. 

Okay. Be a parent. He can do that. He's been doing that for years now. 

He steps over the threshold into the corridor, glad to see that it looks exactly the same as it did a few months ago. Carefully, he walked over to Tim's door, and knocked. There was no answer, though he could hear Tim's heartbeat inside.

This dance, he was familiar with. 

He cracked open the door, and peeked inside. It was familiarly a wreck, though this time it seemed worse because the drapes were opened, letting sunshine in on Tim, crouched on the floor, staring up at his wall. And oh. It looked like he was figuring out several conspiracies at once, his usually dark gray walls covered in pages ripped from books and sketchy drawings, little pins and about a billion pieces of yarn in different colors tying things together like a very creepy bow. 

Tim was crouching on the floor, on the single spot between his wall and his bed that didn't have some sort of paper on it. He was wearing a t-shirt that looked like the kind he had under his Robin suit, and basketball shorts. He was holding a cup of coffee in his hands as he stared at the papers in front of him, his brain obviously churning on without the help of his body, which sat precariously still.

"Tim?" he said, gently. Tim's head snapped up, an angry grimace on his face for a moment before it melted into shock. 

"Clark! You're- you're up!" He stood up, both of his knees cracking as he did. 

"Yes, I'm- what is this?"

"Oh, I- Well, you might need to sit down for this," Tim warned, waving towards his desk chair on the other side of the room. 

The Herculean effort it had taken him to get out of bed proved that was a bad idea from the start, but Clark couldn't say that. "No thanks. I don't want to mess up your order here." 

Tim nodded, and took a deep breath. "Bruce is alive."

For a moment, the bottom of Clark's stomach dropped out in relief, it was all a bad dream, it had never been true, but then the sunlight reflected off Tim's laptop screen, and the flash of it sent him right back to Bruce disappearing in a lightning crack of purple. 

"I don't-" Clark began, but was cut off before he could continue.

"It's- I know it's tough to believe, but the Omega Beam didn't kill him. It- I've got the research right here. He was just thrown out of time, though I understand that everyone thought he died, what with the- the disappearing and all that, but- I figured it out, see?" Tim patted his papers like they were his beloved pets, like he was showing them off for Clark.

“Tim,” Clark said tiredly. He’s lost his partner, his true love, and God, they’ve lost Steph, they’ve lost Kon… Clark is tired. Clark is just, so, so tired. 

“No, Clark, listen,” Tim said, a manic gleam in his eyes. “He’s _not_ dead. I promise you, he. Is. Not. Dead.” 

And it might be the fact that he knows Tim is desperate, can practically smell it on him from his sweaty hands curled around the mug, can see that he's been going for too long without sleep, has greasy, long hair; that he has visual proof that other people than him are going a bit crazy. Either way, he remembers that he isn't the only one who's lost someone. 

“I- Show me what you’ve found. When was the last time you showered?” Clark asked, sitting down on Tim’s floor, careful not to upset the piles of papers scattered in what looks like a nonsensical pattern around them, but that probably makes total sense to Tim. It's always like that. Clark has a hard time getting in Tim's head sometimes. 

“You-you believe me?” he asked, eyes a little too wide. 

Clark blinked, and Tim blinked back, like they were both equally baffled at this. “I want to. I trust you. You’re the most capable detective I know, after… after him,” Clark sighed. He wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders, taking in how rail-thin he seemed, crushed against Clark’s body. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here. I guess I pulled a page out of tall, dark and broody’s playbook, huh?”

Tim gave a weird, mildly hysterical laugh, like he didn’t even know what was going on right now. It struck Clark that if Dick was busy taking care of Damian, Jason wasn’t speaking to them because he wasn’t allowed to be Batman, and Alfred was grieving, who was looking after Tim? Their most outgoing child he was decidedly not, and while he’d bloomed into a calm young man under Bruce’s tutelage, there were always flashes of that anxious, strong-willed little boy who had barged into their lives and demanded the cape. With Robin taken away from him, what was keeping him together now?

Considering the amount of papers spread throughout his room, probably the hunt for Bruce. God, their wonderful, neurotic, sweet kids. 

“Actually, hold that thought,” Clark said, standing up and grabbing Tim’s hand to pull him along. “We need food. And a shower. When was the last time you cut your hair?”

“I-I dunno,” Tim said, looking bewildered. “You really believe me?”

“Yes,” Clark said, despite himself. He didn’t believe that Bruce was alive, but he could always hope. Looking into Tim’s blue eyes, too dark to be the ones he was looking for, too frantic for something to cling to, he supposed now was the time to make an effort to believe. “I do. If you know, you know. C’mon.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, he made quick work of snatching Tim's coffee mug out of his hands and threw it in the dishwasher. Then he pulled out a forbidden box of Kraft’s mac and cheese which had survived Alfred’s latest purge of the kitchen, hidden behind the third row of tea-boxes.

He gave Tim some water while he worked to get them both some food, stirring the water and then the noodles. Thankfully, it was easy mac, and it took only a moment once the water had boiled to heap some big scoops into two bowls and scoot one across the counter towards Tim.

It was a strange reflection of their first meeting, Clark realized when he leaned against the other side of the kitchen island. As much as Tim was too much like B... Clark loved Bruce. He loved Tim because his likeness to him, and because he could be the most unlike him of all their kids, on occasion. 

Case in point.

Tim brought his first spoonful of mac and cheese to his lips, but hesitated before he put it in his mouth. “I like my hair like this,” he said.

They met eyes, and Clark saw that defiant glint that he always treasured in Tim. There he was. 

“Okay,” Clark agreed, and tucked the longer strands behind Tim’s ears so it wouldn't get in his food. “It’s very cute on you. Frames your face a little differently. I like it.”

Tim sniffed, blinking hard. “Dick doesn’t believe me. Or Alfred. Babs says I’m going nuts.”

Tim had been ignored a lot of his younger life, until he came to them, demanding to have a seat at the table. Now that he had Clark's attention, it seemed that all he really wanted was for someone to listen to him. Tim wasn't very good at asking to be listened to when he felt he was being ignored. Being the leader of Young Justice had helped, a little bit, but when it really mattered to him, he was _bad_ at asking. God knows Clark doesn't remember the last time Dick listened to him about something important, why would he listen to Tim? Alfred would listen if asked, but the key point here was that Tim wouldn't ask. Clark distinctly felt the guilt of being a bad parent crushing his chest, but he braced his elbows against the kitchen island and wouldn't let himself cave. 

“What about Jason?” Clark asked, shoving some mac and cheese into his mouth as well. 

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen him in a while. Alfred says he’s with Roy and Kori somewhere.”

Clark blinked. Haven't seen him in a while? But he'd been there, he knew he had been. Though, thinking back, he hadn't heard anybody around when Jason had come to check on him. A small spark of hope jumped to life in Clark’s chest.

“He’s keeping in contact?”

“Pretty much refusing to speak to Dick and calling you every foul name there is, but yeah. He calls Alfred once a week to prove he’s alive, or Alfred stops taking care of his apartment when he’s gone,” Tim said. 

Alfred's interference should never be underestimated. Clark found his face twisting into a smile, and while it made his cheeks ache, it also made him feel lighter than he’d felt in probably months. He let out a chuckle, and Tim looked up at him in alarm.

“Are you losing it right now?” he asked frankly, his next spoonful of mac and cheese half-way up to his mouth. Never let it be said they raised their kids with any tact.

“I lost it the moment I started dating Batman, honey,” Clark promised, and grabbed Tim’s face to smack a big kiss on his forehead. At Tim’s stunned look, he smiled again, the action coming easier this time. “So, tell me everything you’ve got.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for death, grief, and... depression I suppose? Clark is not having an easy time. Neither is Tim. Their coping is bad. Messy narraration as well, but that's because our narrarator is having an awful time being alive.  
> I cried quite a bit writing this chapter, and the following ones, but that could just be me being heavily empathic towards fictional characters.  
> Still, if you're having a bad time being alive, reach out to someone, or if you see someone struggling, reach out to them. This has been a particularly rough year. Hope you're taking care of each other and yourselves. <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving your thoughts on this story! It's very motivating to me to hear your thoughts, also it makes me really happy that people are enjoying this.   
> Wanna preface these coming chapters with the words 'fuck canon' hehe. I read what they did at the time, and just- no. I'm doing this my way, now. I'm the captain of this ship and I'm steering it the way I like!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!! <3

Actually, the shower was... really needed, for both of them. Priority one, really. It'd probably get Tim to stop looking so deranged, and Clark actually couldn't remember the last time he had one. He'd had to physically lift Tim into the bathroom in the end, but he could hear the water running now, at least. He took a hot shower himself, brushed his teeth, and put on a flannel. Wiping away the steam to look in the mirror was _jarring_. The difference in his pallor and the dark circles under his eyes made him look like a whole different person, like a pale imitation of who he was. 

There had always been a lot of jokes about how similar Clark and Bruce were, and how alike their kids were. _Black-haired and blue-eyed the lot of them_ , as Ma said, but Clark had always had a different complexion from Bruce, the Kansas tan deepening his skin no matter how long he'd been away from home. Bruce said he managed to keep it up because of the solar energy he got, and that was probably true, considering he was white as a ghost right now. His kryptonian blue eyes looked out of place on his face, glowing more unearthly than ever. 

Pressing his glasses on his face and buttoning his shirt up, Clark felt a little more human. The glasses dulled his eye-color, and the flannel was warm, the red and black checkered pattern familiar and comforting. 

Listening to Tim cursing at getting shampoo in the eye, Clark walked back down to the kitchen to get himself some tea, just as the click of the lock on the kitchen door opened, admitting Ace and Alfred.

"Master Clark. You're up," Alfred said, his voice warm and startled. Ace was off her leash and on him immediately, hopping up to attempt to give him kisses in the face. Clark smiled, petting her face and getting her back to the ground so he could rub her belly. Ace panted happily as she wiggled on the floor to get him to scratch in all the good places. The feeling of her soft fur under his hands was a little strange, but nice. Comforting.

"I- Yeah." He looked up at Alfred, still standing in the doorway with his smart coat on and a grey scarf wrapped around his neck. "I'm- I'm up." 

Alfred watched the two of them for a moment, and then pulled his coat off, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door, along with his scarf. "I am very pleased to see it, sir. You've had us quite worried for you."

"I'm sorry," Clark murmured, unable to look up from his hands buried in the fur at Ace's belly.

"No need to apologise, Master Clark. We all need some time to recover our own hearts, before we can even begin thinking of any others." Alfred slid by the two of them into the kitchen. 

"Maybe so. How are you doing?" Clark asked softly. 

Alfred seemed to consider that, resting his hands on the kitchen counter for a moment to gather strength. "As allright as can be expected. Trying to maintain a semblance of civility in this household is... taxing without Master Bruce's help."

"That's not what I mean." Clark scrambled to his feet, and Ace rolled with him when he walked around the kitchen island to lay a hand on Alfred's arm. "I meant how are _you_ doing?" 

Alfred's usually stoic face turned down in a frown, and Clark had to resist pulling the old man into a bear hug. "I knew what he was getting into when he began pummelling criminals dressed in a bat-costume, sir. This was never an unexpected ending for him, though it is not the one I would have wished for him." 

Clark sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Cut the sir, please. Can't we grieve as equals, at least?" Alfred blinked tears out of his eyes, and took a deep breath. 

"Yes, I suppose we can. Kal."

Clark smiled, and decided that he could sneak in a little affection, at least. He wrapped his arm around Alfred's shoulders, and they stood in silence, commiserating just for a moment. 

Then, Alfred moved towards the tea pot. "Would you like some tea, Master Clark?"

"If you're making some, yes please. A cup for Tim too, though I don't think he needs more caffeine right now."

"You've spoken to Master Tim, then?" Alfred said, filling the kettle with water and putting it on the stove.

"Yeah. He's... A little out of it, huh?"

Alfred snorted delicately. "Of sorts, yes. A little bonkers, more like it. Poor lad. He's had a rough year, losing all of those people."

Clark frowned. "Why'd you think he's bonkers? It's not like people haven't come back from the dead before. Jason being a good, handy example."

Alfred shook his head. "Why would the same miracle happen twice in the same family, Master Clark?"

"Maybe we haven't managed to run out of luck just yet."

"This isn't unlucky enough for you, Master Clark?"

Clark pursed his lips and plucked down three mugs, making Tim's rooibos and Alfred and himself green tea. Alfred poured the water, and they stared at the steaming mugs together. 

"Thank you for getting Jason to come. It was good to know he was okay, even after-" Clark cut himself off, and Alfred nodded, a barely perceptible nudge of his head. 

"He's a good lad."

"Is he back in Gotham, then?"

"Yes. For now. He and Mr. Queen's boy are renting an apartment in Crime Alley." Clark raised an eyebrow, and Alfred shook his head. "Roommates only. They do go on a lot of adventures with Koriand'r of Tamaran, but Master Jason has also begun his own patrol route in Gotham, mostly throughout Crime Alley and other harder hit areas."

"Patrol and patrol. I don't know if I'd call it that," Tim said sharply from behind them. They both turned to find Tim, with wet hair clinging to his nape and in a pair of yoga pants that had definitely belonged to Stephanie at some point, and a green hoodie Clark didn't recognize. "He's just setting up his second crime imperium."

"It is good to see you up and about as well, Master Tim. Take a seat," Alfred said, the underlying command clear. Bruce had to learn from someone, didn't he?

Tim did take a seat, and Clark slid Tim's mug over to him, coming around the kitchen island to sit down next to him with his own mug. "I don't think we should be so quick to describe such murky intentions to any of Jason's actions."

"Why do you always defend him? He's an adult. He needs to take responsibility for his actions," Tim snapped. 

Clark considered that. "Trauma doesn't stop affecting you the moment you become an adult. Jason's been through a lot. Cut him some slack, Tim."

He sounded tired to his own ears, and he could see Tim pinch his mouth shut with a displeased look on his face. 

"I shall prepare some dinner. Master Richard and Master Damian are out with the Titans for the evening," Alfred relayed, turning towards the refrigerator to get started. 

"Alright," Clark agreed, standing up with his mug in hand. "Come on, Tim. Show me your research." 

Tim blinked, but stood up fast when what Clark had said sunk in. "Okay. Um. Alright, come on."

"I will call you down when dinner is ready, sirs," Alfred called after them, and Clark hollered an affirmative back, trailing Tim up the stairs. 

\---

Tim is right. Of _course_ Tim is right. They almost miss dinner because it takes time to explain all the ins and outs of his research, but it... It makes sense. There's truth in the notes tacked to his wall, physics that Clark doesn't understand concerning the Omega Beams that Tim seems very invested in, but he's _right_. Clark doesn’t understand why nobody trusts his brilliant child, but he’s raging mad about it. When Tim tells him that Ra’s, who's apparently as alive as that bastard can be, is trying to help him, Clark hops on the comm line and tells Ra’s to _fuck off_ and leave his kid alone. It seems the rest of the world forgot that Batman’s kids are just as much Superman’s kids. _Clark_ forgot. 

Clark lies there and thinks, tries to feel anything that isn't emotional turmoil. He can barely believe Tim's kept it together as well as he has, the only one to know and the only one to care. He definitely has a bone to pick with his other kids, though he has to admit to himself that this is mostly his fault. If he'd been less vacant, had stayed with his family in the first place, it never would've gotten this bad. 

Or would he have wanted to listen? He thinks he would've listened. With Bruce, Tim didn't need to talk to be understood, most of the time. It's probably what he appreciated most, with Bruce. If Clark hadn't taken time to heal his own heart, like Alfred said, would he be willing to listen to Tim at all? Maybe not. He brushed a hand over Tim's hair, squeezing the back of his neck gently, and Tim made a contented noise in his sleep. 

No. Maybe he wouldn't have. Either way, it was in the past for now. Clark was under no illusion his months of not being there wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass, of course, but for now, with Tim resting peacefully for the first time in what seems like a while, it wasn't a useful thought. 

He's close to dozing off himself when the sound of wheels on gravel roused him. Carefully, he extracted himself from underneath Tim without disturbing him, a feat in itself, and by the time he made it downstairs to the entranceway, Dick and Damian were already inside, tossing off jackets and untying shoes.

Of course, before he could think of what to say, Dick looked up, and the smile on his face turned into pure shock. "Pop! Hi! You're up!" 

"Yes. Hi," Clark said a bit sheepishly, waving a hand. "Hello Damian."

"Hello," Damian said, very suspiciously. 

"Did you have a good time with the Titans?" Clark asked. "How are they?"

"Yeah! It was a good time, right Little D?" Dick said with a smile, squeezing Damian's shoulder. 

He pursed his lips. "They aren't the biggest idiots I've met, I suppose."

"Ringing praise," Clark said with a short chuckle. "How are they doing then?"

Dick nodded. "They're good. So, um. Did you eat?"

"Yes, yes, me and Tim had dinner with Alfred earlier."

"Ah," Dick said. It was, perhaps, understandable that they felt a little awkward, after months of not talking. It was just extra weird at the moment, for some reason. They smiled at each other, just taking each other in. 

"What about you?" Clark inquired. "Did you eat?"

"Yeah, Donna, Wally, Garth and Kori joined us in town at Nana's diner. It was nice. Good reprive," Dick said with a nod. 

"Good food and good company, it sounds like," Clark agreed. "That's the only way to enjoy a meal, says Ma."

At that, Dick grinned and tackled him in a hug, almost toppling him just from the surprise of it. "It's good to see you on your feet, pop." 

Clark patted Dick's back, giving him one last squeeze before letting him go. "Feels good to be up."

Dick smiled at him, a true sunshine grin, and Clark could only respond in kind, pressing a kiss to his forehead as well. "Well, we're headed out for the evening," Dick said, nudging Damian's shoulder. "See you at breakfast?"

"Actually," Clark said, a flash of an idea making him blink. "Yes. I think we should have a family meeting, as well. Tomorrow. At noon maybe?"

A little startled, Dick still managed a nod. "Yeah, sure. Anything you want, pops."

Damian didn't say anything, just kept eyeing Clark suspiciously. He followed Dick upstairs towards the study, and Clark tried a smile for him too. Damian turned away, and Clark sighed. He understood that he'd lost ground with Damian, and he was under no illusion he wouldn't have to fight hard to get some of it back. That was okay. He'd practically betrayed Damian's trust already. It would take time to get back to where they'd been, wherever that was. 

Considering this, Clark went to his room, searching for his phone. He was pretty sure it was around here, if only with a drained battery. Finally, he found it in one of the bedside drawers, with half its battery. Alfred had probably charged it for him, or Dick. 

Either way, he hit the number he needed, and began the trail back towards where Tim and Ace were asleep with his phone pressed to his ear. The dial tone sounded five times, and then there was a click as the other person on the line picked up.

"M'yeallow?" came Jason's sleep-rough voice. 

"Hi," Clark said softly. "We need to talk. All of us. Come over tomorrow by noon. I don't expect any of you to be conscious before that."

There was silence on the end of the line, and then Jason's deep sigh and the shuffling of sheets. "Geeze. Never should've made you get out of bed. Now you wanna talk _feelings_?"

"I never said that," Clark said. He considered that for a beat. "Although, yes, you're correct."

"I can infer from context clues," Jason grumbled. "I won't be there."

"You will. Or I'll just come get you," Clark said, trying to sound non-threatening and failing spectacularly. He interally groaned at his words, but couldn't take them back. It was hard, to try not pulling Jason back."I mean, I won't drag you kicking and screaming, but I think this will be one step on the way to scraping our family back together, and I want you there for it. Because you're family, and always will be, no matter what."

Clark heard Jason scratching his head, before he blew out a breath. "Too goddamn sincere. Fine. Whatever. Let me sleep," Jason complained, and hung up. 

Satisfied that his job was done for the evening, Clark opened the door to the sitting room, laid back down on the couch with Tim, and listened to his calm, deep breaths for the rest of the night. 

\---

Breakfast proved to be an interesting affair. Clark hadn't anticipated the frost between Dick and Tim, but it made sense, sort of. It was also then that he learned that the only reason Tim was here at all was because a lot of the WE assets were frozen during the sorting of the will, and he wanted access to Bruce's databases in the cave, databases that Dick wouldn't let him take anywhere. If those two obstacles hadn't been there, he wouldn't even still be in the manor. 

This development made Clark a little more nervous about the family meeting, but it also reaffirmed how very needed it was. That strengthened his resolve.

They settled in one of the sitting rooms, with Tim in a loveseat and Dick and Damian on the couch. Clark remained standing, hearing the crunch of tires on gravel as Jason's motorcycle approached. 

"So," Dick began, clapping his hands together. "What's the matter, Clark?"

"Actually, we're missing two people," Clark said. "Hold that thought."

"Two people?" Tim asked, furrowing his eyebrows. The sound of the door opening and Alfred speaking quietly to Jason made Clark's shoulders tense. Alright. He could do this. 

"Yes. Alfred, and Jason."

That made Dick blink, and Damian pursed his lips, but shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. " _Jason_?" Dick said incredulously.

"Yes, darling?" came Jason's sarcastic tone from the doorway. "You called?" 

"Oh, so now you come, huh?" Dick said, sounding a little upset as Jason strolled into the room with Alfred right behind him. Alfred settled in the other love-seat, but Jason just meandered into the room like it belonged to him. 

"Pop made it sound like if I didn't, we'd have a hostage-situation on our hands, and I felt it was just immoral of me to corrupt Superman so." He pressed a hand to his heart, sounding mockingly woeful. Clark could see Dick's temper rising by the second, so he just clasped a hand down on Jason's shoulder, smiling at him.

"Thank you for coming, Jason. I appreciate it. Please, sit down."

That seemed to take him off guard, and Jason eyed him with a speculating glint in his eye. "You've perked up, pop. Good for you."

Clark just kept smiling. "Loveseat. Now." Jason held his hands up in surrender, and sat down next to Alfred. "Thank you." Clark took a deep breath, but didn't really know where to start. 

Yes, he and Bruce had been partners and equals. Yes, they took care of their family together. They'd done pretty much everything together, after Jason's death. Because of this, Clark had literally never stood in front of a family meeting all by himself. Bruce always started it, and Clark finished it off, because that was how everyone came out of it without being upset. Just trying to find the words now felt suddenly like a momentuous task, and he opened his mouth and closed it once, just to see if anything came out. 

Alfred, bless him, seemed to sense his turmoil, because he cleared his throat to get the attention on him. "Perhaps we start with the current state of things, Master Clark, if I may suggest?"

"Yes. I- that's a good plan, Alfred. Thank you," Clark said, a little desperate-sounding. "I want to start by saying that the way you guys are treating each other right now is not how we treat each other in this family, and you _know_ it. You're brothers, and that means that no matter what you say or do to each other, at the end of the day, we still love and appreciate each other, and if we can't bring ourselves to do that, then we at least respect each other and our different abilities, because we are a _family_." 

"Oh yeah?" Jason said.

"Yes," Clark stated firmly. 

"Doesn't feel that way," Tim pointed out, glaring at Dick and Damian. 

"Because you're snapping at each other like starving piranhas! Don't glare at your siblings," Clark said, pointing at Tim. When Jason grinned, Clark pointed at him too. "Don't look smug, Jason. This is serious, and you are not exempt from this problem. What I really want for you guys to do is communicate, because I know you can do it! I've seen you do it, several times in my life, in fact. No matter what's happened these past months-"

"How would you even know what it's been like?" Dick asked, cutting him off. Now that he's looking, Clark's noticed the dark circles under Dick’s eyes, covered by make-up, knows from Alfred that Dick’s doing all he can, but he’s so young, they’re all so devastatingly _young_. 

Clark took a deep, steadying breath to stave off the lump crawling up his throat. "You're right. I haven't been here for you, and I'm sure that's been awful for you. I'm sorry I was gone. I'm sorry I didn't think about what this loss meant to you too. I was in pain and selfishly withdrew from something I _never_ want to be away from, which is being your pop. I love all of you, so, so much, and all I want to do now is make sure that you're _okay_."

At least Alfred radiated approval. Damian looked skeptical, but at least his older kids seemed to feel the emotion of the statement. They all looked away from him, not daring to meet his eyes. That was actually a good sign, coming from the bats. Maybe Clark had gotten through to them, a little bit. 

"I know asking for okay is a lot. I know you've all had your individual struggles, and I will be cornering you to talk them out, but I also know that now isn't the time for that. What I really want to do now is make you guys talk to each other in a respectful, constructive way again." He stared at all of them, until he'd had eye contact with all of them once, and then he nodded. "Okay, good. Now, we're going to start with Tim. I know he's been shoved aside a bit these past months, and I understand your reasons, Dick. I also understand your reasons, Jason. That does not make them good reasons to ignore and shun your brother. I want you to apologize to him for… Well, Tim has a list of grievances, I’m sure. And we’re hashing it out, right now. This family is better at talking about our feelings than this.”

"I don't know about that," Jason drawled, but shut up at Clark's stern look his way.

"Tim?" Clark encouraged, could see the storm of words building behind Tim's protective dam. 

"Jason, you need to shut up and listen more, and stop slapping away any attempts to help you." When Jason opened his mouth to protest, Clark again shot him a look that shut him up. "Dick, _I'm_ supposed to be Robin. You didn't have the right to take it from me. I didn't deserve that. When I lost- when I was missing them, all I really wanted was my- my family and the cape."

“You still had us! But Damian needs Robin more than you do,” Dick said, shaking his head. Damian made a mutinous face, but Clark locked eyes with him. He hoped to convey _this is not about you_ , and marveled at Damian pinching his mouth shut. “Besides, you’re the Red Robin now, right?”

“It’s not the same,” Tim’s voice cracked. “I’ve lost Bart, Kon, Steph and B-Bruce and I just… I’m not crazy.”

Clark grabbed the back of Tim’s neck soothingly, made him look into his eyes. “You are not crazy. You’re also not fine, but you are not crazy. We'll get him back. I miss Kon-El and Steph very much too. That’s why we’re going to work this out, like a family.”

Dick groaned. “Oh, not you too, Clark. Bruce is _dead_. The way he did things is no longer the best way. We need to move on,” he said dully, but the _we_ sounded very suspiciously like a _you_ to Clark. He tried to pack away the hurt at Dick's words, and imagined Tim having to endure that tone all alone for so long. 

“Do you say that because you think that’s the truth, or because you want it to be the truth?” Clark asked curiously. Dick pursed his lips, crossing his arms over his chest like he was an angry teenager again and they’d said no to the latest, coolest party. “Okay, let me rephrase the question: do you _not_ want to help your brother?”

“I’m a little busy right now, pop,” Dick pointed out, his eyes flicking to Damian for a millisecond. 

“This is what family is for. You help your brother, your brother helps you. Your pop helps you. Alfred helps. From now on, I will not tolerate any discord in this household.”

“Pop’s gone off his rocker,” Jason mumbled, probably to himself, and Clark smiled at him. 

“Guess what, kiddo? You’re _grounded_ until I think you’ve properly made up with your brothers. What sort of stunt did you think you were pulling, anyway, with trying to be Batman? Honey, you _hate_ Batman.”

Jason gaped at him. “You can’t ground me! I don’t live here!”

“I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t making myself clear. We’re staying in this manor, _all six of us_ , until we’re working as a family-unit again. I know we’re having an awful time after-“ Clark’s bravado fails him, he can’t wrap his mouth around his name, ”-after everything, but that’s what family is for. We support each other, we love each other, and in tough times, we stick together and help each other out. So that’s what we’re going to do. Am I making myself heard this time?”

At Clark’s stern tone, Tim and Dick nodded reluctantly. Damian remained mulishly silent, but he looked to Dick, and then let his head fall back against the couch in annoyance and acceptance. Alfred looked at Clark with approval for the first time in months. Jason and Clark locked eyes, and after a tense minute of silence, Jason looked away, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 

“This family is a fucking nightmare,” he muttered darkly. 

\---


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your sweet comments and thoughts! I get very excited every time I go to post because I'm just so jittery to share what I've written and see what you guys think lol. I gotta point out that these coming chapters are gonna be simultaneously feel-good but also... dealing with grief (me, squeezing the batboys like they're waterlogged barbies: cry, goddamnit you, cry!)   
> If this feels a little ooc when it comes to the feels being expressed, keep in mind that Clark has been there their entire lives and has tempered Bruce's sharp edges quite a lot, or at least that's how I feel!   
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Now, Clark hadn't expected to come in after so many weeks and just take charge without any resistance. He was just ready to crush rebellion whenever it popped up, or at least hear the guilty party out. That's what he'd been spectacularly bad at in his time of grief. He wasn't going to let that continue. 

That's also why he wasn't all that concerned when Dick cornered him in the cave, only a day after his announcement. Obviously, he'd needed to gather his thoughts. That was fine. 

"Hey," Dick said, twirling his computer chair away from the batcomputer and stepping towards Clark, who was on his way towards the infirmary to grab some band aids, because they'd run out upstairs and Clark was constantly conscious of his family's health, more so now than ever. "You have a second?"

"Sure," Clark said, casting an ear out to the rest of the manor. Jason wasn't here at the moment, and Damian and Tim were doing a trust exercise under Alfred's supervision that Clark didn't really think was going to help. He was hoping they'd bond in mutual embarrassment, at least. "What's up?"

"I just want to hear your thoughts on something," Dick said, his tone deceptively light. 

Clark stopped and put his hands on his hips, meeting Dick's gaze. "Uh-huh?" 

"What if we don't get him back?" he asked, his eyes hard. It seemed that way a lot nowadays, except when he was looking at Damian. Even Tim had earned this flat, rock of a look. "What then? I know Tim's given you a second wind here, but if you're not going to stick around if it falls through, I don't- I don't want you confusing Damian." _I don't want you confusing me_ went unsaid, but Clark heard it just as well. 

He pressed his lips together tightly, trying to figure out how to put this into words. "I'm- I'm really trying. I don't want it to get that bad again. I know that was really rough on you kids, especially you, and I'm sorry. You took on a lot of work and I'm very proud of you for stepping up like that. He would be too. But I know it was a lot, and it wasn't what you signed up for-"

"No!" Dick exclaimed, throwing an agitated hand up. Oh, there it was. "It really wasn't. I don't- I hate being Batman. I don't want it, but I know Jason wouldn't manage, and Tim is going nuts, and Gotham needs a Batman. But I _hate_ it. I hate walking around like I'm his copy. I never wanted that, and you know I didn't."

"I know, honey, I know. I just need you to hold on-"

"But if we _don't_ get him back," Dick pressed. "If we don't get him back, do I have to be Batman forver? I never- I never wanted this, pop."

"We're going to get him back," Clark said firmly. 

Dick groaned. "Clark, you need to realize that it's a slim goddamn chance that we _do_. It's crazy ass magic that Tim's fiddling with, and that literally never comes without a price. You can't think this turns out okay."

"Why not?"

Dick gaped at him. "What do you mean, _why not_." Ah, he even had the actually-a-question tone down pat already. Very impressive. 

"We have very capable people on the job," Clark pointed out. "Tim's a very good investigator. He takes very few leaps of faith. If he says he can get B back, I believe him. I don't understand why you don't."

"Because he's talking about bringing back someone from the dead!"

"It's already happened once, in this family. And he's actually talking about pulling him from wherever he's been sent in space and time, whenever that is. Why don't you want to believe him?" Clark asked curiously, watching his oldest's face intently. Something was up, here. He just needed to figure out what. 

Dick's face seemed to go through several expressions at once. Anger, confusion, frustration, all in just a second or two. "It's not about want, Clark."

"Then what is it about?" Again, Dick looked like he had too many emotions to sort through them all at the same time. "Hey. What's the matter, sunshine?"

Carefully, Clark stretched out a hand to get Dick to uncurl his arms from where they were crossed over his chest, and he succeeded, at least partly. Instead, they hung lax at his sides, and it just looked wrong, to see their little beam of sunshine so tired and dejected. "I don't- I don't know how I feel about him being gone. On one hand, I just- I didn't think he'd ever be _gone_. He's just always been larger than life. I never even imagined this would happen, even if I know he's not invincible. It just- It didn't even seem like something that could happen, y'know?"

Clark nodded, pulling Dick into a hug and rubbing firm circles over his back. "I think we all thought that."

Dick nodded into Clark's chest. "On the other hand... I'm- I'm _happy_ that he can't be here and yell at Damian, because he certainly doesn't need to hear it. And I'm glad I don't have to yell at him all the time anymore, but I also miss yelling at him, which- how does that even make sense, pop?"

Clark pressed his lips together to try and swallow the lump in his throat. He knew Bruce was good at alienating people, but _wow_. Hearing Dick say that made his heart hurt. He understood that Dick was frustrated and grieving, though. "It makes perfect sense, honey."

Dick untangled himself from Clark's arm to grab at his own hair, taking a few steps back and staring into the distance, like Clark wasn't even there. " And I'm- I'm _so_ mad that he dumped all this shit on me, and you, and Alfred! And that he didn't leave Tim with some sort of goddamn safety net. That he fucked Jason up so bad that he doesn't even want to talk to us, even when the whole damn point was that he was mad at Bruce and now Bruce is gone, so that should at least be helpful to, y'know, reconcile a little bit!"

"Jason has a lot of problems that have nothing to do with Bruce," Clark pointed out. 

"But the worst, the absolute worst part of this fucking ordeal," Dick growled, like he hadn't heard a word Clark said, "is that he expected _me_ to step up and be _Batman_ , as if that wasn't like sixty percent of the reason we fought when I was still living under your roof! I'm not Batman! I'm not him! And everyone in Gotham knows I'm not." Dick released his hair to look at Clark with tortured, dark eyes. "The GCPD look at me like I'm crazy and I just-"

"Don't go out tonight, then." 

That caused Dick's whole face to light up with anger. "The problem persists even if I don't go out tonight, pop! You know what, the cape is heavy and stupid! It's the first thing I ditched when we had the Nightwing suit made, and the cowl, _God_ , I don't get how Timmy can stand it! I have to turn my head an extra fifteen degrees to have full peripheral vision. Try doing that in a fight, or when you're getting shot at!"

Tim had a cowl now? God, Clark was out of the loop. He was going to get caught up tonight. No excuses, no sleep. First though...

"Okay. So, what _can_ you fix?" Clark asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dick threw his hands in the air. "Nothing! Goddamn nothing!"

"Okay. Then you take a break," Clark declared. "When you're stuck, you need to take a step back, refocus, and come at it from a new angle when you're rested. You're going to run yourself ragged in no time if you don't know when to take a break."

"B could do it," Dick said stubbornly.

Clark sighed, deeply. "No, he could not. He was just very good at hiding the things he couldn't fix. It also took him several years to learn how to handle being Batman and balance it out with literally everything else he had on his plate. You've been at it, what, six months?"

Dick pressed his lips together in what Clark recognized as pouty displeasure. "Six and a half."

"Okay. Do you think you're going to know how to deal with things he figured out through _years_ of training and knowing his own body, in six and a half months?"

"I have a headstart. I should be-" Clark snorted, and Dick's eyebrows turned down in an uncanny imitation of the man they were speaking of. "I do! I've been my own vigilante for years now!"

"You weren't the sole vigilante of Gotham when you were on your own. Bludhaven is... cleaner. Different. Less weird. I don't think you've taken into account how very screwed up Gotham is. Your 'headstart' came from wearing green, scaly underpants on top of your y-fronts as a ten-year-old. Even then, that was years ago. You've been successful at a lot of things since then, but honey, it hasn't been _Gotham_."

Dick exhaled deeply, like he was trying to press all the air out of his lungs in one breath, breathe in some calm instead of air. "Yeah, I... I guess it's a native thing. If Tim wasn't a little.... batty right now, he'd make a great Batman."

Clark smiled. "Mm. I think he'd enjoy it the most out of all of you, in the end. He'd also neglect... pretty much every other aspect of the Batman that isn't the good old detective work, and the WE stuff."

"What else even is there?" 

"Lots of things. Social things that he doesn't like. Having connections in the community, sources and places to turn to for help. Also, what you're doing very well: training the next generation. Taking in a new Robin, so they can have a chance to grow into themselves. We had to force Tim into joining a team, y'know. And he only stayed in the beginning because he liked bossing Kon around a little bit. And then he made some friends, too, which helped. Ultimately, the only person who Tim could even imagine working with in the beginning was B."

Dick rubbed his temples. "Yeah. He's still pissed about the Damian thing too."

"You mean the Robin thing," Clark clarified. "Yeah, I can imagine that. That's between you and him. You're mature, relatively communicative adults. I can only do so much to smooth the way for you. I think you're gonna have to apologize for that one."

"B didn't apologize to me," Dick pointed out, with acid in his tone Clark hadn't heard concerning Bruce since Dick was a teenager. 

Clark nodded. "He's always been very bad at apologizing. That's what you want for your kids: for them to better than you ever were. You all keep taking great strides to surpass us every day, and I'm very happy I get to see it."

Dick pressed his lips together, crossing his arms again. "Don't make this into a parenting thing. It isn't. It's a vigilante thing."

"Oh is it? I think it's more of a family thing, actually. If you were talking to Tim, you'd know that."

" _Talking_ to Tim?" Dick scoffed. "I've tried, Clark! He's the one who won't talk to me!" This was the first Clark had heard of that, but he had only gotten the story from Tim, who was probably a little biased on the subject. Okay then. Come at the problem from another angle. Clark was not above taking his own advice. 

"So why did you give the mantle to Damian, anyway?"

Dick ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Damian was gonna run away. Bruce was the only real reason he was still here, apparently. I didn't know how else to make him stay. And I- I couldn't have Tim as my Robin. He's too clever for that. Too much my equal, or even fricking superior."

Clark internally groaned. "But did you _tell_ him that?"

Dick blew out an explosive breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "I tried! But he wouldn't hear me out."

That about added up. Never let it be said none of the kids had gotten Bruce's petty streak. They were all very headstrong, and while they cared for others, most of them were very in their own head. Ready to feel slighted at any moment. "Okay. Do you understand why Tim's feelings were very hurt, though?"

Dick huffed. "The mission comes before-"

Clark let out an incredulous snort, cutting him off. "Oh, the mission? What happened to you not being him? You're sounding an awful lot like him right this second." Clark watched Dick's face turn bereft as he spoke, and tilted his head. "Hey. How _are_ you doing, sunshine?"

"It's- It's a lot right now," Dick said, his voice wobbly, and Clark hurried to embrace his oldest, most responsible son. 

"Oh, I know. This family is wonderful but at times it's also... a lot," he murmured, hugging Dick tightly to his chest. Dick melted like ice cream on a sunny day into his arms, and Clark petted his hair, pressing a little kiss to his temple. 

"So fricking much. I never learned Bruce's filing system because I thought it was stupid and now I have to ask Babs like, all the time where stuff is. It's crazy frustrating. Damian practically never sleeps despite being up all night, and he and Tim can't stand each other so he's been attached to my hip ever since I took over. Jason's been a fucking ass every single time I've tried to talk to him, and _Tim_ \- He's such a jerk! I miss Kon so bad. He and Tim balanced each other out so well and without him and Stephanie here, Tim has like zero friends I can dump him on, and he _hates_ me and-"

"Hey, hey," Clark hummed, shushing Dick gently. "Relax. You don't have to shoulder all this responsibility alone anymore. I'm here, okay? You've done so good, holding on." He smooshed Dick's head to his shoulder, feeling his hot tears burning through Clark's flannel. "We'll figure this out. It's not you against the world. I promise. We'll get him back, too, and then you won't have to be Batman anymore. Okay?"

Dick leaned out of the hug, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye to scrub away the tears. He didn't meet Clark's eyes, and cleared his throat. "Look, losing Bruce has been rough on everyone. But losing _you_ was hard, too. We couldn't find you for weeks, pop. We looked everywhere for you, and when Diana let Alfred know about the Fortress signal, we could barely believe it. We'd practically accepted that you'd dropped off the face of the earth. The Tribune even ran a story about you being gone, though Lois ripped into it in a response article thing. I mean, the JL covered for you when you were gone, but it was... weird, to come to the manor and not have you or B in it. _Please_ don't leave again." 

Clark took a deep, shaky breath, blinking back his tears. He grabbed both of Dick's hands, squeezing them between his own and making his son meet his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Dickiebird. I promise I won't leave again."

They both sniffled in unison, and chuckled at the wet, sniveling noise they made. "We look ridiculous," Dick said, wiping his face with his sleeves. 

"Oh, who cares?" Clark smiled, rubbing his thumb over Dick's cheekbone to get rid of the last of the tear-tracks there. "We're allowed to be a little silly, considering the circumstances. Now, I feel like what we really need, is a little hot chocolate."

Dick nodded, dead serious. "I think you're entirely right, pop. Lead the way."

Clark wrapped an arm around Dick's shoulders, and they strolled over to the elevator together. Well in it, Clark weighed his options, and decided that with Dick in an okay mood, now was probably the time to air this particular grievance. 

"I do know one thing that Tim would really appreciate you doing," Clark said softly. "If you want to make him hate you a little less." 

"Oh yeah?" Dick said, raising an eyebrow. "I shudder to think what hoops he wants me to jump through. And I'm not taking the Robin mantle from Damian."

"No, it's pretty simple, actually," Clark said. "I think, if you'd just listen to him explain what he believes happened to B, you'd be well on your way to being forgiven for your crimes."

Dick bonked his head against the elevator wall. "Jesus Christ. He's really managed to convince you, huh?"

"You know he's the best detective, out of all of you. That he's probably smarter than B, or will be at some point." Sadly, Clark recognized that mulish look on Dick's face. He was not going to budge on this anytime soon. "Okay. It was just a suggestion."

Dick popped his neck, rolling his shoulders like he could bring a cape forward. Sort of strange to see Dick do that, too. Bruce had rarely ever done it out of costume, but when he was tired and in an uncomfortable social situation, it slipped out. Bruce didn't like to think that he ever slipped, but Clark had watched his partner pretty much all day every day since they'd gotten together. It was easy to imagine Bruce's warm eyes, his pouty silence when Clark pointed things like this out to him, and Clark probably got a little bit lost in the thought of it. 

"Why do you think you believe Tim, Clark?" Dick asked quietly, snatching him out of his thoughts as they exited the elevator. 

Clark hummed. "At first it was because Tim really seemed like he just needed someone to pay him any attention right that second. And then it was because he explained himself and why he thought what he did. Gave sources, cited other instances, explained a bunch of physics and magic... In the end, it just seemed more believable that he was still alive, than that he wasn't."

"You don't think you're a little biased?"

"Of course I am. So are you, and Tim. This isn't something you can be objective about exactly," Clark pointed out, sweeping towards the kitchen cabinets and pulling out two mugs for them. His was a lumpy, misshapen blue and green mug that Jason had been forced to make for him in art class, and Dick's was a Wonder Woman mug. 

"Of course you're taking Tim's side," Dick muttered, sitting down at the kitchen island. 

Clark blinked, and whipped around, holding a finger up in a flare of temper. "This is _not_ me taking sides. All I want to goddamn see is my kids not trying to bite each other's heads off. Yes, Dick, Tim has made mistakes, but so have you. I don't expect all of you to have come out of this situation unharmed, but I expect you to take care of each other, like brothers are s'posed to. Both you an' Tim have failed, because he could've helped out more, and you could've paid him more attention. I understand that these past few months have been tough, but we are _going_ to resolve it one way or another, and I don't wanna hear another word against it. Ya' hear?"

Dick pressed his lips together, but nodded, and Clark sighed. "I'm sorry, honey. I don't want to yell."

"Nah, it's fine. I've missed hearing the country come out," Dick said with a sweet little smile, and Clark sighed again, shaking his head as he turned around to fix their hot cocoa. Never as good as Alfred's, but a good attempt, at the very least. Clark sat and enjoyed his mug next to Dick in silence, just enjoying the presence of his eldest, who seemed to be enjoying the silence with him, as well. 

Sometimes that was all you needed, to get better together. To sit, think, and drink some hot chocolate together in silence.

\--- 

It becomes clear to Clark that Damian is getting along with everyone a little better now, at least. He still hates Tim, but with less of a burning passion and more of a flippancy, now that what he considers rightfully his is finally in his hands. At least he seems to genuinely love Dick, even if he's expressing it without really knowing how. Namely, the following around. If there's nobody else in the room, Damian tends to himself, but the moment anybody else steps in, Damian becomes attached to Dick's side, uncomfortable with them all and unwilling to give up his one source of safety in the house. 

Clark takes a whole week to figure out how to redirect that, but he's sure Bruce would be proud of him for it, because it sort of takes care of two birds with one stone. 

"Y'know, I knew you liked the attic as a kid, but it wasn't until he told me you hid smokes up here that I realized why," Clark said lightly. Jason flinched where he was sitting on the window sill by the small, triangular attic window, managing to hit his head on a low beam and swearing copiously about it. 

"If he knew about the smokes, why'd he let me come back up here all the time?" Jason groused, turning to glare at Clark as he rubbed at the top of his head. Jason's always hated head-injuries, thought they were the most annoying because he couldn't battle through them very well. It's probably why he wears that silly helmet of his, still, even when he doesn't need to disguise his identity from the lot of them anymore. He's been out of the house a lot, but he always comes back after patrol, is always back before breakfast, like that will make his sneaking out more palatable. It does, at least to Clark. 

Clark smiled, sliding his legs over a box of attic stuff to sit on, so he could be half-in, half-out of Jason's little alcove, carved out by the stacked boxes and framing the triangle window neatly. "We all need somewhere to feel safe, somewhere to think for ourselves, without meddling parents or well-meaning butlers breathing down our necks."

"So why are you here now?" Jason asked pointedly. 

"It's a very good, secluded place. No curious little ears," Clark explained. "And I wanted to run something by you."

Jason glared, but waved a magnanimous hand, indiciating he could continue. "Sure, whatever. What?"

Despite thinking about he's going to breach the subject a lot, Clark still hasn't figured out quite how, so he just blurts it out. "How do you feel about Damian?" 

Jason gave him a weird look. "He's a twerp. Why?"

"Twerp how?"

"Twerp in that he's like ten, a giant narcissist, and probably the best and worst thing to ever come out of Talia. Why?" Jason repeated. 

"Best?" Clark asked, a flutter of hope coming to life at that. 

Jason shrugged, perfectly comfortable perched on the window sill, wrapping an arm around the knee he'd tucked to his chest. " _And_ worst. Giant narcissist. Sometimes a raging psychopath, but at least the second most tolerable kid I know. That's not saying a lot though, since I know exactly two kids."

"But you like spending time with him," Clark wheedled, trying to get this conversation more on track. It was never him who had to start these sorts of tough conversations, usually. It felt foregin and awkward, and now he knew, more than ever, why Bruce was usually so forward and plain-spoken, even when it seemed like he was just being rude.

"I mean, I have been forced to spend time with him. In the past. Sometimes Talia made me babysit him when he got too rowdy, because I was the only one who dared touch a hair on the heir's little fuzzy, dumbass head."

Clark hesitated, but he had to know. "Is that why you knew about him? About him being B's?" 

"She never told me or anything. I just knew that there was pretty much only one person she ever thought worthy of mixing her genes with, and I've seen a lot of portraits and pictures of B when he was a kid. Damian looked a lot like him when he was like two. It was cute," Jason said, with a sharp, wolfish grin. "And then, well. He showed up here, and it just seemed to reaffirm my suspicions."

"I have a really important thing to ask of you," Clark said, deciding that maybe Bruce's approach was best. "I need... I need Damian to feel safe here. In this house. I know he likes Dick, and that he wants to be Robin, but I can't have that be the only thing that ties him to our home. I need him to find an attic for himself, and he's not going to do it when he can just cling to Dick all the time. You were the one who had the hardest time, finding your place when you came to us. Can you help Damian out? If not for him, then for me?"

Jason frowned. "What makes you think _I_ can do that?"

"For one, he seems to not hate you, which is more than I can say for myself," Clark said, with a wan smile. It still hurt, a little bit, that Damian could hate him so much, but it was understandable that he didn't want anything to do with him right now. "And you have a kind of unique understanding of him that none of us do. You were like that, once, too. Too afraid to leave B's side, but you were _so_ brave, and you got over that, by finding places where you felt safe in the house, by making friends with me, with Alfred, with Dick. Damian escaped the League, too. Doesn't he deserve a little help on the way to feeling like he belongs?"

"Oh, he belongs plenty if Dick has anything to say about it," Jason scoffed, but there was a considering look in his eyes, like he was at least hearing what Clark was saying. 

"He belongs to _Dick_. Not to us. He's not a Wayne, because he doesn't act like one. He doesn't think of any of you as brothers, would probably only care if any of us died because it'd make Dick sad. That's not what he deserves. He deserves a family, people who care about him no matter what, people that he can care about as well. For that, he needs to feel safe here. I can't give him that, but I think you can. Will you at least try?"

Jason mulled over that, pressing his lips together. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"What was it that made you feel like family, at first? What was it that made you feel like you were safe here?" Clark pressed. 

Jason considered that too, taking almost a whole minute of silence to figure it out. "Bruce took me running with him, all the time," he finally said, his voice soft and a little reverent. "We'd run around the manor grounds and he'd tell me about his ancestors, and what they did for Gotham. How Waynes were built into the very foundation of the city, had always tried to do what they can for it. We'd jog by the well he fell in as a child, where he got swarmed by bats, and decided that he had to face his fears and become Batman. Or by his parents graves. And when I asked him why he thought I gave a shit about any of that, he said that I was a Wayne, now, and that Waynes give a shit about Gotham."

Clark felt tears burning at the corners of his eyes, but all he did was close them and breathe, hearing Bruce's strong voice ringing in his mind. He thought back to those weeks in the beginning of Jason's stay, when he'd questioned why Bruce was always home with Jase, and why he took Jason with him to work out all the time, and Bruce had said it was just the beginning. Of what, he couldn't be pressed to explain at the time. 

"We explored the whole house once," Jason said, "and he showed me the portraits in every room, explained why they were there. What the people did to deserve being painted and displayed like that."

Clark hummed, a sudden thought coming to him. "Did he tell you there are more portraits in the attic?"

Jason blinked. For a moment, he just gaped. "Son of a _bitch_!"

Clark smiled at that, shaking his head. He'd stopped trying to police Jason's language when it hadn't worked at thirteen, but it still made him itch a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. This is a very good spot."

"God, that manipulative fucker," Jason muttered, rubbing his forehead. 

"He gave you somewhere to feel safe," Clark pointed out. "Somewhere you thought he didn't know about. It helped you feel like part of the family, feel safe."

"He's such an ass!" Jason groaned. "Fine, fuck. I'll try, but I am _not_ promising anything." He pointed a stern finger Clark's way. Clark held his hands up in surrender. 

"That's all I'm asking for, Jaybird. If it doesn't help him, then okay, at least we had a go at it. Okay?"

Jason grumbled out an okay. He fumbled under the window sill, and pulled out a cigarette from under there, patting his jacket for a lighter. "Now scram and let me smoke in peace."

"You got it," Clark said, dashing forward to press a quick kiss to Jason's forehead, before he was out of the alcove, making his way downstairs again. He heard Jason's grumbling until he managed to light the cigarette, and then the clicking of him tapping the lighter against the window in thought. Clark decided to leave it at that. 

\---

Clark and Damian are usually the early risers of the family, earlier than even Alfred. On those days, Clark enjoys making two tea mugs, and putting one at the kitchen island, and then seating himself at the relatively small kitchen table with the newspaper. Damian gets into the kitchen, and takes the mug, sniffs it suspiciously, before he seats himself at the kitchen island like a bedraggled man would sit at a bar. 

He doesn't think Damian's slept more than five hours uninterrupted since he became Robin, which bothers him. When he brought it up to Alfred however, he only said that Damian wasn't showing any other signs of sleep deprivation. That he was still adjusting to the many new changes in his life, including his new sleep schedule. Clark thinks that all their other Robins were sleeping until noon at this point, but keeps this to himself. 

Instead, he provides tea, and early morning company. Mostly, he reads the newspaper, and Damian sips his own tea and reads something on his tablet. Other than that, they don't acknowledge each other. Clark has tried on several occasions to say good morning, and he never recieves anything other than a death stare back, so he's content to keep Damian in the same room with him for almost an hour a couple of times a week, until Alfred comes to make breakfast. 

Today though, Clark makes their tea and hears one of the showers upstairs come on. Damian always showers after patrol but before he goes to bed, and in general, so do all the other kids. It's a little off-rhythm, but Clark doesn't think too much about it, adding a hint of sugar to Damian's tea, and copious amounts of milk to his own, before taking his seat. 

He's gotten better at the timing the longer they have this little morning routine, so the tea is still steaming gently when Damian comes in, his blinks slow and heavy as he takes his seat, his tablet clinking against the stone surface of the kitchen island. Alfred's right that he doesn't show any other signs of sleep-deprivation, not really. Clark just has... a feeling. 

Batman and Robin tend to call it a night around three am, unless there are pressing needs to be tended to. Dick goes back home earlier than that sometimes, but mostly it's three am, two-thirty something. Because of this knowledge, and that their cool down stretches and showers take about half an hour, and the fact that it's currently seven thirty, Clark knows Damian isn't sleeping enough for a growing boy his age. All the bats have a very interesting sleeping schedule, even Alfred, who does his due monitoring from home all night, but that usually includes them sleeping for at least seven, probably eight hours. Until noon, if Jason and Dick had their way. Damian seemingly hasn't the gotten the memo about that, yet. 

It's also moments like this when Damian reminds him most of Bruce. He sits there with a little frown on his face, scrolling his tablet and sipping his tea. All that's missing is some gel in his hair, and he'd really be a mini-Bruce. Clark soaks in that as much as anything else. 

The sound of the shower earlier makes more sense when Clark hears footsteps padding down the stairs, and then Jason appears in the doorway, wearing basketball shorts and a hoodie with a tank-top under, red running shoes in hand.

"Hey twerp," Jason said, with the eyes of a man who hasn't slept all night. "We're going out."

Damian swatted Jason's hand away from his hair when he tried to give him a noogie, and chanced a glance at Clark. "I don't know what you're talking about, Todd."

"C'mon. I'm taking you running," Jason said, his tone brokering no room for arguments. "Do you even own running shoes? Or just your fancy little patent leather Jimmy Choos?"

Damian looked at Jason like he was insane. "Of course I have shoes. You have obviously lost your mind during the course of the night."

"What, can't handle the fact that I can beat you in a race?" Jason taunted. Damian's incredulous neutral face turned into a frown. 

"I can beat you at anything, peasant," he said dismissively.

"No mommy to come telling me to stop now, little prince. Wanna see what happens when I don't go easy on you?" Jason smirked. 

"Go _easy_ on me? Don't be ridiculous, Todd. I've beaten you fair and square."

"Oh yeah? Prove it. Let's go," Jason said, waving with his shoes towards the kitchen door leading out towards the trails. 

Damian seemed really rattled by the thought that Jason had been going easy on him, if his deepening frown was anything to go by. "I don't have to prove anything to you," he snapped, but he had turned in his seat, looking ready to leap at Jason and prove he was better right on the kitchen floor. 

"No?" Jason asked, a perfectly pleasant smile on his face, if not for the challenging look in his eyes, the one that has always managed to annoy Dick to insanity. Little brothers tend to have that certain... capacity to annoy their older siblings. It seems to be working on Damian too, who huffed loudly. 

"Very well. I will beat you into the dirt again, and you will know your place," he said, hopping off his stool to make his way upstairs and get changed out of his slacks. "Outside, five minutes!"

"You got it, little prince!" Jason said, his tone the very embodiment of smug. Clark heard Damian's feet pounding a little faster up the stairs, and found himself smiling a little. 

"How'd you sleep, Jase?" Clark asked thoughtfully. 

Jason pointed an accusing finger his way. "I couldn't sleep a goddamn wink because you stuck a stupid idea in my head, and now I have to _do_ it so it goes away."

"You should take a nap later," Clark said, turning the page. "Ace is asleep on my bed."

"Shut up," Jason said, but snatched her leash off the hook by the door, and turned to leave. 

"You got it, Jaybird," he agreed, peeking over the edge of the newspaper and trying to not beam with pride at Jason helping out.

"Don't look at me like that!" he sing-songed with a finger in the air as he walked out of the kitchen, making Clark's smile widen and go back to hiding behind his paper. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was a kid and we moved to a new house across the atlantic, the new house was big enough that I could steal part of the basement for my own, to make it my little art-space. I stacked our empty moving boxes like a brick wall, framing a corner with a window, and hung out there a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I built a lot of cool, creative stuff there that I look back on to this day and think was pretty neat. I like to think Jason got to have a little smoke-think-reading nook in the manor, where he could be by himself and still feel at home, like my little art-space.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *boxer ring noise* Let's get ready to rumbleeeeeee!!!   
> Honestly though, the batkids are duking it out in my wordpad document and I can't stop them. Neither can Clark. We're going to get better though! This is angst with a happy, happy ending, believe me (fuck DC canon!!!! so hard!!) They just have to solve some issues first.   
> Hope you enjoy! <3<3

The rest of the week is just Clark trying to keep his family in one piece. He has to break up a fight between Tim and Dick where they throw things at each other, and it's _hard_. He's never seen the two of them so at each other's throats, and it sucks that he has to be the one to pull them apart, when usually a sharp word from Bruce would keep them from even picking up anything heavy enough to hurt. He's trying his best to be strong for them, but like he said to Dick, it's a lot, and it's never been something he's had to handle without Bruce there at his side. He tries to keep his cheer up during the day, but some nights he caves and sits on their bed and just cries. He misses his partner a lot. 

He calls his mom for the first time in months, and she cries in relief at hearing his voice, and they stay on the phone for hours, just talking. It makes him feel a little better, at least, but the guilt of having left at all keeps clawing at his stomach. Ma's lost a son-in-law, has lost Conner, who was her grandchild and her son. They're both still grieving. At least Ma has friends that check on her, and apparently Dick calls once a week, Jason once a month. Tim came over once, but with such a haunted look that Ma was surprised he even managed to stay the night before he took off. 

At least there's been one victory going on this week. Clark can tell that whatever Jason is doing is helping Damian, because he starts disappearing more often, much to Dick's bafflement. He seems relieved at the alone time though, if a little guilty that he feels relieved. Clark can still hear Damian's heartbeat in the house, though, so he's not very worried. He actually manages to find Damian's safe space purely on accident, because he wanted a book that wasn't in the library, all of which he has probably read at some point by now. 

Bruce has the study that used to be his father's, but Martha had a study too, when she was still alive. The Waynes just call it 'the other study' now. It's on the third floor, all the way to the right in the corner, and it faces the rose garden. It's practically the polar opposite of the rest of the house, at least in style. Where the rest of the manor is dark mahogany and walnut with ornate, swirling carvings, Martha's study has cherry wood furniture with classic little fruit carving touches, and the chairs in front of the desk are cream colored, as well as the walls and the trim. A whole wall is taken up by bookshelves, but the other two walls that don't lead back out into the corridor are filled with big windows, letting lots of light in. 

It's a bright spot in the gloom of the rest of the manor. He knows from Bruce that Thomas had it done for her when they were just married, because being a house wife wasn't going to cut it for her. All her files on her charity work are still there, untouched, even if Bruce has updated them and has them on his computer now. In general, the only person who visits the study now is Alfred, who only does that to keep it clean. 

A lot of the books in her cream colored bookshelf are about biology, different flora and fauna. A few fancy collections of fables also rest in there, books that according to Alfred used to be in Bruce's nursery when he was a child. He's looking for a particular fable to the far right in the bookshelf, probably squished all the way out of the way by Jason years prior, when he hears a soft sound behind him. 

Usually, he'd assume it was Ace, but this didn't sound like her little snore, just a soft exhalation of breath, and when he turns, it's Damian napping under Martha's desk that he's greeted with. The space there is decorated with a few pillows he must've pilfered from the sitting room next to the study, because they're a mauve velvet that show they originate from the purple sitting room that was also Martha's favorite. The throw blanket he's resting under is white but has a noticable, brighter white pattern woven into it, and Damian is curled like a cat, his little pouty mouth slack with sleep. It's probably the most relaxed Clark has ever seen him, and he holds his breath as he looks at him, his feet leaving the floor so as to not disturb Damian, and make him abandon this obviously needed retreat. 

So that's how he was getting enough sleep. Cat naps. Clark could appreciate a resourceful little boy. He grinned at Damian's resting form, noticing from his slow heartbeat that he's deep in sleep. Still, Clark doesn't want to tempt fate, so he leaves the study, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He can get the book later.

\--- 

Before he does anything stupid, Clark deliberates with Alfred, who thinks that any way to get Dick and Tim to talk to each other is a good way right now. It's becoming such a point of contention that it's starting to make the manor crackle with tension, and Clark's let it go on long enough. Therefore, he drags Jason out of bed when Alfred wakes up the next day, and sits him and Damian down and ask them to please go grocery shopping with Alfred. 

"Why?" Jason asked, yawning so big his jaw cracked. Alfred slid a dark blue mug with the GCPD logo on the side over to Jason, who scrubbed at his face, clearly not exactly awake yet.

"I'm making Dick and Tim talk to each other today, and I think it's best if you guys aren't here for that," Clark said. 

Jason snorted, raising the mug to his lips without ever opening his eyes further than slits. "Mkay. Good luck with that." 

Damian wasn't as easily swayed, a perturbed turn of his lips. Or at least, that's what Clark assumes it is, from his uneasy reply. "I will remain as back up, then." 

Clark sighed, and shook his head. "I think this will be one of those things where they don't need any back up. I _really_ hope I won't need back up either. But thank you, Damian."

"Don't worry about it, little prince. They'll slug it out verbally, and dearest Dickiebird will win because he didn't raise his voice as much as Timbo did, and we'll go back to normal," Jason soothed, without managing to be even a little soothing. 

"Nope. There will not be yelling," Clark said, shaking his head again. "None of that. I just want to get them to talk to each other, see each other's sides of view, maybe get them to talk it out a bit. All in all though, I don't think you guys should be here for that."

Damian pursed his lips, glancing from Clark, to Alfred, to Jason's relaxed, slouched posture. "All right," he said stiffly, but immediately turned to bicker with Jason about the proper way to drink coffee. Clark is practically so happy he could cry that Damian isn't going to be a problem child for him today. 

His other kids, however.... 

Clark has had enough of Dick and Tim's attitudes. This is where he draws the line. At around noon, when Alfred's sleek Rolls has left the building, Clark corners Dick before he manages to get in the shower and asks him to meet him in the blue sitting room in fifteen minutes. Dick, still half-asleep, nods as he rubs his tired eyes, and disappears without a sound. 

It's actually harder to get Tim in the room than it was with Dick, because he seems to have heard the Rolls-Royce leave, gives him a squinty look when he politely asks him to meet him in the blue sitting room in a few minutes. It takes a bribe of a big cup of coffee to get him to agree, but he does, in the end. 

Clark went downstairs and grabbed Tim's coffee while he listened to Dick yawning and the scritch scritch of a towel on skin. He also made some tea for Dick, and grabbed some scones and butter. All that on a tray and up to the blue sitting room, feeling proud of how his hands remained steady. These were his kids, damnit. He could handle them _very_ well usually. 

Tim was already in the room when he got there, so Clark handed him the coffee, seeing his deep, relaxing sigh when he got a whiff of it. 

"So what's up, pop?" Tim murmured, taking a deep swill of coffee, almost downing half the cup.

"Well, I wanted you here to-"

The opening of the door interrupted him, and Dick was half-way inside when he stopped, froze, and tried to turn around on the spot. 

"Oh no, you're going to stay right here," Clark said, using a burst of speed like he hadn't in months to grab Dick's forearm before he could disappear back out the door. "We are doing this now."

"You've gone evil, making me do this _now_ , when I'm this tired," Dick whined, and Clark could already sense Tim's hackles rising, so he hummed, trying for a relaxing sound. 

"No, sweetheart. I should've done it sooner. I've just been waiting for the two of you to resolve things yourself, because you usually manage that," he said, plopping Dick down on the couch opposite Tim and sitting down in the armchair between the couches, like a referee at a tennis match. "Because we communicate with each other in this family. I thought Jason and Damian were going to give me the most grief about this, but nooo, it's been the two of _you_! My sweetest, usually-don't-resemble-a-rage-monster-at-all kids!"

Dick and Tim exchanged a look over the table, and Tim drew his knees up, cradling the coffee between them and his ribs, like he was protecting it from Dick, who leaned back against the couch and sighed, deeply. 

"That's mean. Damian's not-"

Tim scoffed, _loudly_. Loud enough to cut Dick off completely. "Yeah. Yeah, he really is."

"If you left your room ever, you'd see that that's not the case anymore," Dick said, rolling his eyes. 

"You just have to protect him all the time, don't you? Like you can't control yourself. It's not like he tried to _kill_ me or anything. That he tried to kill _Alfred_. That doesn't matter to you, Dick?" Tim hissed. 

"He's getting better," Dick protested, and Clark saw Tim's eyes sharpen. 

"Better? Yeah, I bet undivided attention is exactly what that spoiled, psycho brat needs to get better. Wouldn't do to give the little prince anything other than the best. Whatever he wants, yeah? He'll point to it, and you'll run and get it for him. Like a little hug, a fucking _cape_ -"

"It's not like that, Tim! If you would've just listened to me-" Dick said, his volume rising steadily. Neither of them are leaving yet, at least. Clark opened his mouth to steer them off this explosive course, but was cut off before he could. 

"No?" Tim said with a bitter chuckle. "That's what it seemed like to me! It's not like you _asked_ me!"

"I tried to talk to you about this, but you didn't want to see me ever again, apparently!" Dick exclaimed. "I tried for _months_ to talk to you, to get you to come back out of your fucking cave and all you did was sulk like a child!"

The hurt anger in Tim's eyes was practically palpable to Clark, but Dick was still staring at him with exasperation, like that's what you did to your younger brother pouring his heart out to you. "You wouldn't listen to me! Why would I listen to you, you fucking-"

"Okay!" Clark said, probably a little louder than needed. "You didn't feel listened to before! It's good that we've gotten that out there. Now that you _know_ that, will you both make an effort to listen to each other right now? What do you want to say to each other that you want the other to hear, really hear?"

That was a loaded question, it seemed. Tim set his mug down on the coffee table, crossing his arms. Dick did the same, looking away from both of them. "I've got all day," Clark said firmly. "We're not getting out of here until I-"

Tim cut him off, back to staring at the side of Dick's face. "I just want you to hear me out. You keep telling me I'm crazy without hearing the whole story. Like you don't give a shit about whatever I have to say. I know I can't convince you to give a shit about anything other than _Damian_ , but if you would put that aside for just... just five minutes and let me talk..."

Dick blew out a big, explosive breath. He turned back to meet Tim's eyes, and shrugged. "Alright, fine. Explain away."

Tim glanced at Clark, who gave him an encouraging smile. Slowly, the story tumbles out, and Clark dashes again to grab Tim's mind-map (the biggest reason Clark was convinced, in the end, as it's the most structured Tim's thoughts get), only gone a second and worrying the whole time about the two of them. Tim shows Dick the research, and Clark stands behind Dick's couch, trying to telepathically make him listen to Tim explain what they need to get, how to make everything right again.

When Tim finished, Dick stared at him for a moment, before slowly shaking his head. "I- Tim. That's bullshit," he said, an exasperated look still on his face. Internally, Clark threw his head back and shouted in frustration. "You can't believe that's going to work."

"Why are you even here if you're not even going to listen to me?!" Tim shouted, standing up. 

"Whoah, okay, no need to yell, Tim. Sit down," Clark said, hurrying around the couch to nudge Tim's shoulder. Tim and Dick were in a glare-off of epic proportions, too big for Clark to get between as much as he tried. Finally though, after Clark nudged him again, Tim sat down. "Dick is listening to you. His comments could be a little more constructive, but he's trying to listen." He pinned Dick with such a hard look that it better be the truth. 

Dick seemed to consider that, running a tongue over his teeth as he thought, the same way he'd done when he'd been losing his teeth as a kid. It just serves to remind Clark that while Dick and Tim are legally adults, they're still just kids, who've lost three parents by now, before they've even lived three decades. That's a lot more than some people ever have to go through, even setting their night business trauma aside. 

"Fine. Magic is unreliable and using it to bring Bruce back is risky. Incredibly risky. The fact that you can even imagine doing that is- beyond me," Dick said, his voice not even close to neutral, despite the blank look on his face. "He didn't trust magic as far as he could throw it, and- for that matter, how are you even sure whatever you brought back from space-time would be him?"

"Tim is sure," Clark said firmly. "We wouldn't risk anybody's life if we weren't sure."

"Why isn't that enough for you?" Tim asked softly. Dick opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off before he could. "It would've been enough for Bruce."

Dick looked like he'd been slapped. "I'm _not_ Bruce, Tim."

Tim laughed again, but this time he just sounded tired. "No, I- I don't know why I thought this would work. He hasn't cared about me in months, why would he start now?"

That got Dick wound up in a second. "I care about you, Tim! I always have! God, I tried to talk to you but you shut me out quicker than I could get a word in!" he shouted.

"No yelling," Clark said sharply, putting a hand on Dick's shoulder this time. "And yes, Tim, please explain why you wouldn't hear your brother out."

"Because you picked _Damian_ to be Robin over me! And you had no fucking right to do that to me!" Tim yelled, his voice cracking. "He tried to kill me and you gave him a fucking medal of honor and it was such a _blatant_ reward for his bullcrap and it wasn't even yours to give! Just because you were first doesn't mean it's _yours_ anymore!" A silent tear ran down Tim's cheek, and he wiped it off immediately, like he was embarrassed by it. 

"Hey," Clark said softly. "That wasn't what Dick meant to do." 

Dick gaped at Tim for a moment. "No, I- He was reprimanded for that, you know."

Oh. That... was not what Dick should've said. Clark closed his eyes to not have to see the way Tim's heartbroken face twisted into cold rage. "Right. Reprimanded." 

"Tim-"

"No, Clark, didn't you hear? Damian's attoned for his crimes. He doesn't do any wrong, ever, and his big brother is going to come rescue him if someone says that he does."

Dick frowned. "That's not what I-"

Tim cut him off. "Actually, Clark, you know, maybe if Dick wasn't such a sanctimonious, cowardly jackass, we wouldn't be having a problem at all," Tim said. If only he'd be screaming, it probably would've sucked less to hear. As it was, he delivered his remarks with a deadly calm tone, his face hard. Little brothers did know where to hit where it hurt. 

It, at least, seemed to have struck quite the nerve with Dick. "Maybe if you weren't such a whiny, ignorant recluse, yeah, maybe we wouldn't!" he snapped, teeth bared. 

Tim's eyes flashed with rage, and he bared his teeth back. "I'm out. He doesn't care, and he's not gonna."

"You're being overdramatic," Dick said, slipping into a lower register, probably trying to calm him down, but it was not going to help. Tim stood up fast, making a face like he didn't even know where to start dismantling that statement. Then he spun around on his heel, making for the door. 

"Hey, Tim, come on. Let's talk this out," Clark tried again, but he can tell the two of them are too fired up. "Let's just... say sorry and-"

Tim snorted. "Ha! He's not sorry, and I. Don't. Care." 

Dick did look a little regretful now, like he was beginning to realize the impact his words had had. "No, I'm-" 

At the sound of Dick's voice Tim stopped, snarled, and then was out of the room in a flash. Clark let him go, ready to sink to the floor and maybe pray for some patience. Dick looks guilty now, but also defeated, and about a billion times as angry, as _hurt_ as he was before, his hands clenched in the couch cushion like it's an anchor to this plane of existence instead of just a frilly, blue monstrosity. 

"Great. Thanks, pop. So helpful," Dick snapped, standing up and storming off as well. 

Clark put his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he's supposed to tell Alfred about this, when him and the other boys come back home.

\---

Jason never comes for Damian during a morning again. They usually take the hour before lunch, nowadays, so they can shower and have a relatively civil lunch with Dick, who's taken to sleeping till noon again, now that he knows that Damian is taken care of until then. Tim still can't be pressed to sit in the same room as anyone but Clark and Alfred. Clark's working his way up to deal with that one in a nice, tactful way. 

Right now, though, he's sipping at his morning tea. There's something different about today. Damain's been stealing glances at him ever since he came downstairs, obviously building up to something, tapping his fingers restlessly against the tea cup and the stone counter top.

"Superman." 

Clark blinked, and flipped his newspaper down to look at Damian, who looked like he regretted ever opening his mouth. It strikes him that Damian probably doesn't know his last name, which is fair. If Alfred had a say it would be Wayne, but he and Bruce hadn't actually gotten to that part yet, and nobody would call him Kent at home. Damian always pretends like he doesn't give a crap who Clark is, so it shouldn't surprise him that he has no clue, but it does. He hasn't been called Superman in months now, and Clark wonders if he'll ever dare be called that again. He doesn't feel very super right now, that's for sure. 

"You can call me Clark," he said, though he suspects Damian doesn't want to, at all. "Or if you prefer, my Kryptonian name is Kal-El. Like how Conner was also named Kon-El." That stabs at him a little, but just like when Jason passed, Clark would prefer to remember how he lived, rather than how he died. Only Bruce calls him Kal in times of emotion, whether they be good emotions or bad. He thinks he can hear it come from Damian's mouth without wanting to cry, but it's always hard to tell what will hit him hardest that day.

Damian doesn't answer him, but he also doesn't look away from where he's staring Clark straight in the face. He taps his fingers against his tea mug again, and swallows. "Did you really meet father first in your civilian personas?" he blurted out. 

Clark blinked again, a little taken aback. He was visciously thrown back to a strange time where his biggest concern was getting Damian to like him, at least a little. "I- yes. It was the first time I covered a Wayne gala, and it was only because my friend Lois had gotten food poisoning and couldn't go." She still thinks that Clark should bow at the altar of her sketchy gas-station chicken salad for that. 

"How did he _not_ know?" Damian asked, clearly having puzzled at this for quite some time, if the intense look on his face said anything.

Clark smiled at that. "You haven't seen me in my element," he pointed out. "And he hadn't been Batman for very long at that point. Only a year or two, I think. I didn't make the connection because he played his role of airheaded billionare very well, and he didn't make the connection because I played my role of bumbling reporter very well."

"And yet you decided he was a candidate for a... romantic liason?" Damian asked, a little disdain in his voice, but not near the caustic levels he'd had before. 

He doesn't know how to phrase the fact that Bruce was _blazing_ hot and the first guy who hit on him in public with zero thought for how it might've been percieved by others, at that time. That look in Bruce's eyes, like Clark was a tanalizing, surprising thing, and that he wanted to climb him like a tree. At least, he can't say _that_ , not without scarring Damian for life, and he's had quite enough of that. "Yes. And he decided that I was, too." 

"You must have made quite the scandal of yourselves," Damian decided. 

Clark hummed. "We only went on that one date and a half before we figured each other's identities out, and after that, we didn't pick our... romantic liason up until at least a year later, when we knew each other better. And then we dated in secret, both from the Justice League and the press, for three months, until Dick came around. Then people started noticing I wasn't there as a nanny for Dick, and then they made the connection to a year before, and _then_ we became a scandal. Someone actually started a petition to get Dick taken away from Bruce's legal custody, which-" It had made both of them horribly mad at the time, but bias was bias, and some people would always hate two men who loved each other, no matter what. He shook his head to dislodge the angry turn of his thoughts. "We had a firm enough relationship at the time of the scandal that it didn't really affect us. I know more than anyone how awful the press can be."

Damian chewed on this addition to what Dick called their 'epic love story', almost long enough that Clark thought the conversation was over, but then Damian huffed, a frustrated sound. "Your grief for father seems very genuine."

Clark doesn't know if that's a convoluted compliment or not. With that uncomfortable look on the boy's face, it might be. "I love your father very much."

"Hm. Yes, so I've seen. Still?" Damian asked, a thoughtful look on his face. 

"Yes," Clark said, without hesitation. "That's never going to change. Even if we don't manage to get him back."

"You put credit in Drake's theory, then?"

"Yes, I do. Do you?"

"Grayson says that Drake has become delusional with grief." He tipped his head to the side. "I know that death doesn't have to be so very permanent. I believe my mother would sooner swim in the Lazarus pit than let it happen to herself, no matter the consequences. Todd was even brought back by it, though his mind seemed to be in such a fragile state before. Though I've never personally witnessed or experienced time-travel, I'm sure my mother has, or grandfather did. It isn't the strangest thing I've heard." 

It's oddly a relief for Clark to hear that, even if it's from a child. He's a very clever child, that much is true, and if anyone would have a loose definition of death, it'd be him, but still. "I wish you'd tell Tim that. It would mean a lot to him, to have someone believe him that isn't his pop."

Damian looked bewildered. "Why would I do that?"

Clark gaped a bit. "I- I don't know. To let him know he's not alone. To be...nice?"

"You can't make me be nice. Neither can Grayson," Damian protested, with such a vehement tone that it sounded like a repeated argument, though it had definitely not been between the two of them. The mention of Dick suggested that it was he who had wanted Damian to be nice. 

Clark considered that statement, trying to find a way to twist it to work in his, and eventually Damian's, favor. "I guess we can't. We can only hope you'll want to be nicer. I know Dick's having you on as Robin. That you're doing a lot of good. How does that make you feel?"

"Make me _feel_?" Damian repeated derisively. 

"Yeah. What, you just go out there and do good things and don't care? Dick told me you stopped a kidnapper a few nights ago. That the girl thanked you. Didn't that feel... good?"

"What she thought was unimportant. The important fact was that the criminal was brought to justice." Damian's eyebrows had slanted, like he was suspicious that this was a trick question. 

"Ah. So we're still at the vengeance stage, then." Clark put the newspaper down, resting his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers in front of himself. "Tell me, what weapons are you taking with you, when you go patroling with Dick?"

"Bolas. Batarangs. Smoke pellets, gas pellets, stun pellets, disruptor..." Damian listed, a concentrated look on his face as he thought. 

"Non-lethal weapons. To summarize," Clark explained, waving a hand around. 

Damian frowned. "Yes. Grayson says I need to work on my finesse. That it's 'a challenge' to my status as a warrior." Seeing Damian do air-quotes was a little surreal, but also very amusing. It seemed very child-like of him, and Clark watched him with new fervor, seeing the relaxed influence of Dick, Jason and a few months without any actual parent's pressure on him. He was wearing black jeans instead of slacks. He'd rolled the sleeves of his turtleneck up instead of insist Alfred fix it for him. He wasn't wearing formal shoes in the house. 

Clark smiled at the young boy. "Uh-huh. You don't like it when others are better at things than you are, do you, Damian?"

"I am the superior. I will be the best in the end, no matter what," he announced, with such certainty. It was probably what Talia had told him, had taught him to believe. Probably the reason for his snotty attitude, his reserved manners.

"Okay. And why can't one of those things you're superior at be niceness?"

"You don't get to the top of any organization by being nice."

"What organization are you working your way to the top of right now?" Clark asked curiously. "Wayne Enterprises? Tim runs that, and he'll see you coming this time. He's CEO now, and the board isn't going to pick a ten-year-old over him. Do you consider being Batman an organization you can climb to the top of?" Damian frowned at him. "Tell you what. I can challenge you to be nice to everyone you meet for a week, and if you do it better than I do, I will declare you my superior when it comes to being good."

That seemed to have been a little too silly for Damian, who shook his head. "No. I have too much blood on my hands to ever be good. Father said so."

Clark sucked in a breath through his teeth, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. Bruce really didn't understand the weight of his words, when it came to Damian. Or he'd underestimated how mad he was when he said it. "I'm going to let you in on a revolutionary secret, Damian: Your father isn't always right. He and your mom have a lot of issues, and he's very bad at realizing that everything she's touched isn't ruined just because she touched it. _You_ are not ruined because of where you come from. Dick doesn't think you are. I don't. Neither does Alfred. Jason still thinks you can be good. I can't vouche for Tim, but you did try to kill him, so I feel like he has a right to have whatever opinion he wants." Clark shook his head at himself. The _sorts_ of things he needed to say in his own home. Black Canary would be professionally exasperated with him. "My point is... You can decide to be good, and acting on that makes you good. It doesn't have to be much harder than that."

Damian seemed to consider this. "What is being... 'nice' supposed to feel like?"

Clark thought about it, making a face. "It's... warm, I guess? You just feel good about something. Like when you give someone a compliment, and they smile, and it makes you smile too, because it made you feel nice that you could make them feel nice." From the utterly bewildered look on Damian's face, this was a foreign concept to him. "Um. Okay. If I told you your hair looked nice today, what would you say?"

"Why would you care about my hair?" Damian asked slowly. Clark could tell this was going to be a Thing with him. How do you explain being nice to someone who thought the whole thing was ridiculous? Who wouldn't have acknowledged it, if nice came his way? Obviously, this approach wasn't working. Clark scrambled to think of something else. 

"Okay, uh. Nevermind that. When you and Dick go out on patrol," he tried instead. "And you take down criminals. He tells you that you did a good job. Right?" Damian nodded, with a suspicious look on his face. "Right. That's Dick complimenting you on something he thinks you do well. How does that make you feel?"

Damian's round face went through a lot of emotions, none that Clark could decipher off the top of his head. "That's feeling... nice?" he questioned. 

"I mean, yes. It should be. It makes you happy, right? And pleased? You enjoy hearing Dick saying that you did good," Clark said. Damian nodded, a bit reluctantly. "Yeah. I bet he'd really like if you complimented him, too. That could be your daily being nice challenge. Try to think of things that make you feel nice, and see if you can also make others feel nice."

Damian actually seemed to consider that, not snapping rudely or telling Clark where he could shove his niceness. He's assuming this new, slightly less enraged Damian is because of Jason's incessant runs with him, and Dick's boisterous and loving attitude. It's a little bit of family, a little bit of love, a little bit of belonging. Where a few months ago, Damian would've lashed out, now he's thinking, considering. 

Finally, Damian hummed, and gave Clark one last suspicious look, before he turned back to his tablet. That felt like a dismissal, but it was also probably the longest conversation the two of them had ever managed. Again, Clark marvelled at Damian's progress, and he smiled as he picked his paper back up, leaving the boy to process in peace. 

\---


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling giving ('tis the season after all) and also I had a whole chapter typed up, just... waiting. (also I keep realizing that I just let these characters take me for a ride and I have a few plot points thought out but the final chapter count?? a mystery! The final word count? A larger mystery! I can't! seem! to! stop! writing!) So! Happy holidays, people, whatever you celebrate! You'll still get an update on Saturday/Sunday, so don't you worry about that ;)   
> I've heard clamors for Tim to get someone in his corner, and that's what you'll get!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

It seems to get a little bit better every day, after that. Clark calls Ma more often, and listening to the mundane life on the farm is nice. The new farmhand Ma's employed seems like a good young man who just needs a little steady work to get back on his feet, and Ma really does need the help. Clark also manages to get the entire family assembled for a single dinner, and while it is nice that it doesn't turn into a screaming match, mostly because Dick bites his tongue, it also highlights the fact that someone at the head of the table is missing. Still, it's nice to see Jason tease Damian and the boy not going for the knife, the first thing he does. 

Of course, they've had their fair share of backslides. Tim locked himself in his room for a solid 24 hours once because of a fight with Dick, and it ended with Clark having to take the door off its hinges to get him to come out and eat. Damian slashed a portrait of the late Martha and Thomas Wayne in anger, but was tasked with painting a new one under Alfred's supervision, as both punishment and as a way to make him pay for ruining Alfred's favorite portrait. He's a very good painter, actually, and demands several photos of the pair to complete the painting, demanding to know what they were like so he can more appropriately depict them than that other 'foolish amateur'. 

All in all, it's gone better than Clark ever expected. 

Jason and Dick still don't talk except to snap at each other, though. Dick thinks that Jason should get over himself, and Jason thinks that Dick can shove that opinion where the sun don't shine. Tim also doesn't want anything to do with Dick anymore. Clark can tell that it's tearing at Dick, who so enjoys to keep his family close, but he also can't back down, too stuck in his ways.

It's reminding Clark too much of the first few months of Dick being gone from the manor at eighteen, before Dick became Nightwing, how Bruce and Dick couldn't be in the same room while their tornado of rage tore through the house. It was bad back then, and it sucks to see Dick in the same position, unable to admit that he's is in the wrong because he _isn't_ , and he doesn't know how to explain it. Clark has tried to guide Dick through it like he tried to help Bruce, back then, but he can't force mandatory dinners again because now no-one shows up when he tries. 

However, this kind of familial adversity makes for strange bedfellows. Clark is sitting in the library with Dick and Damian who are writing up their reports from last night's patrol, and he's looping his hearing over the manor like he does whenever he's distracted. Generally he doesn't mean to pry, but it's kind of hard when he also needs to be assured of his family's safety pretty much every second of every minute. 

It's hearing Jason and Tim's heartbeats down in the cave that startles him first. Tim's heartbeat is fast and stuttering, so he focuses a little more on the things around him. The sound of Jason's steel-toed boots against the grating of the stairs didn't seem to bother Tim in whatever task he was doing, though, even as he came ever closer.

"Leaving isn't going to help, y'know," he heard Jason's relaxed drawl echoing down in the cave. "Dickiebird is only going to bug you more the moment you step out on him. And you're going to hate him more, too. It's a bad idea for everyone."

"Shut up. I don't care," Tim snapped, the sounds of buckles being tightened and hooks snapping into place making Clark almost stand up from his seat. Tim leaving? No, not now. Not when he was close to getting their family back together. He didn't know what to do, how he could stop Tim. His head began whirling as he shifted through options that wouldn't make Tim despise him, and couldn't make a decision, paralyzed by the thought of losing someone else. 

"You okay, pop?" Dick asked, snatching Clark's focus back to the library. He must've made a noise, or twitched. Clark didn't know what. 

"Yeah," he said, standing up on shaky legs, "I'm good. I just felt the need for some tea. You guys want any?"

"No," Damian said, and when Dick gave him a pointed look, he tacked on a very reluctant "thanks."

Clark smiled. "No problem. Dick?"

"No thanks, pop. You go ahead," Dick said, a knowing look in his eyes. 

The moment he was out the door, he dashed over to the study, listening back in. 

"-know, why do you hate me so much?" Jason asked incredulously. "I mean, if anything, it should be the other way around. It _was_ , for a while. Even Dick doesn't think I'm the scum of the earth anymore, just a jackass. Neither did Kon, when he was still here."

" _Don't_ say his name," Tim said sharply. "Shut up. You don't deserve to say his name."

Jason remained silent for a moment, and Clark sharpened his ears further, focusing on Tim's hammering heartbeat and the tension in the silence between them. The sound of buckles clinking against each other and snapping into place had at least stopped, but that could just mean Tim was all finished packing. Jason's question had piqued Clark's interest, though. He stopped, leaning against the clock, the metal of the hands glinting at him mockingly.

"Y'know," Jason said, his voice still that lazy, casual drawl. "I recall our favorite Superboy telling me that you're actually a very funny dude, when you get through the hard shell. I know Clark loves you, which means you can't be all that bad. You agree?"

"What, do I agree that they love me?" Tim asked, sounding suspicious. Jason made a noise of assent. "Yeah. I guess. Why?"

"Well. The fact that you agree suggest you trust their opinions. Not more than your own, of course, though. You would never make a snap-judgement of someone yourself, would you, Timmy-boy?"

Tim chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound, instead a biting, bitter laugh. "Oh, this is not a snap-judgement. Trust me. You're a bad person, Jason. You tried to kill your own _parents_. More than once. Parents that loved you and treated you with the respect you needed, paid attention to you! And you tried to kill them!"

Jason huffed. "Maybe I just wanted Bruce to pick me instead of that fucking crazy criminal. Maybe I wanted him to care more about me than he cares about the Joker."

The sound of a helmet hitting the floor was loud, with the way Clark was focusing on Tim. "Fucking _fine_! Then why did you try to kill Clark? He has nothing to do with Gotham's bullshit."

"He's Superman. I yelled myself hoarse calling for him, when I was lying there with my bones broken in an abandoned warehouse. He didn't come, and I died," Jason said, his voice velvety soft and dangerous. Clark swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. "You wouldn't expect me to be mad that he didn't save my life?" 

"No, because I don't expect others to clean up my messes! You want people to give a shit about you, and maybe you've tricked some people into doing it, but if they don't do it without you manipulating them, then it's not real. You can't expect others to care about you if all you do is demand that they do." 

Jason seemed to consider that. "So you're like B, huh? Keep all your emotions inside, and one day you'll die and nobody will know? Fine. I want someone to care about me. At least Clark does. Kon did. I know that's real. With someone like you, people never know if you even give a shit about them. It's a lonely, sad life. Everybody keeps dying around you, Tim. Did they even know you cared about them at all? Ever?"

"Shut up! Bruce cared about you 'til the goddamn end!" Tim shouted. "When you were acting up, he should've brought you to Arkham kicking and screaming! Instead he just let you go. It was an act of mercy! A way to show he gave a shit about you, even after all the horrible things you've done, to him and to Gotham."

"Mercy? No. It was cowardice!" Jason snarled, incensed by this denial. "He didn't know how to deal with me, so he let me go! Don't vomit that hero worship here. Nobody's going to listen to you if you do." 

"Fuck off, Jason," Tim growled back. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Actually, I really do. Kind of the king at not being listened to, around here. Nobody cares about the Bruce thing because you sound like a desperate fanboy when you try to explain it, and they've all moved on, Dick and the JL. Clark hasn't, which is the only reason he's actually listening to you, and because he's a sucker for his kids. I'm fucking _stupid_ , so I've listened to you, too. The only way you're going to get Dick to care at all is to make it not about Bruce."

The ringing silence after that statement marked Tim's shock. "Are you- Are you trying to _help_ me?"

Clark suddenly grinned so wide he thought his face might split in two. Yes. Yes, Jason _was_. He wanted to help his brother. He could hear what was probably Jason's fingers making contact with his own forehead, like he was facepalming himself, or maybe just pressing there to try and stave off a headache. 

"God. Fuck. Yes, Timbo, I'm trying to help you. As someone only second in place to the B-man himself when it comes to experience with yelling at Dick Grayson, I feel like I'm in a unique position to help you make him realize you're not a lunatic, though you're pretty goddamn close."

"You believe me?" Tim said hesitantly. 

Clark heard the creaking of Jason's leather jacket, like he'd shrugged. "You're the brains of the outfit in that team of yours, according to what Conner told me, anyway. And in hindsight, with a serious amount of asskicking on Roy's part, I've... realized that you really pulled Clark and B out of a hole after I got iced and diced. So, you know."

"Yeah. I- No, actually I don't know what's going on right now. At all." 

"Glad I can still be an element of surprise in your day," Jason snarked. 

"It's literally all you are," Tim promised. 

Jason kicked the railing of the staircase, where it attached to the cave floor. "So why do you want him back so desperately, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

Jason hummed. "Bruce, I mean. The only person I've ever known that genuinely loves Bruce is Clark, and Alfie. And even then, you gotta take into account Stockholm Syndrome. You lived in his shadow. He never appreciated all your smarts, not like he should've at least. He used you for cheap detective labor. All you did in the end was run around after him. Why do you want him back so bad? Think he'll take you back as Robin?"

"I- It's _Bruce_." Clark had no doubt that Jason could hear the layers of emotion in Tim's usually so reserved voice. There was a lot tangled up in that tone, years of devotion and trust, frustration and love. Yeah. Clark knew that feeling very, very well.

Jason sighed, very deeply. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is, huh. Well, that argument's not going to fly with Dick."

"He didn't listen when I explained anyway," Tim said, obviously frustrated. "Facts didn't sway him, me yelling about it didn't sway him.... I don't know what else to say to convince him."

"Do you know the three leading words when it comes to rhetoric, Timmy my boy?" Jason asked, a little enigmatically. 

"What." Clark could imagine Tim's crossed arms and blank look, just from his bland tone.

"Jeeze, haven't you ever held a speech? The three most important words in the English language for you, right now: ethos, logos, pathos. Character, logic, and emotion. Dick didn't listen to your logic and facts, or your emotional outburst about it. So you have to make him believe in your character. You're his _little brother_ ," Jason said slowly. "Dick cares a lot about family. You use that to get him to listen to you."

"He didn't care about it when I told him it was about Bruce. Bruce is more family than I am."

Jason chuckled. "Dickiebird and old Bats have a... complicated relationship. Kind of like the one the two of you knuckleheads are cultivating right now. Making a mess of it. You matter more to him than Bruce does."

"Oh yeah? Why are you so sure about that?"

Jason sighed, tapping his knuckles against the railing he was leaning on. "Nah. Not going to make this awkward. If Dick's gotta choose between you and B, he's going to pick you. Trust me on this one."

"What? I'm not going to just take your word for it," Tim said, like Jason was being ridiculous.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, obviously pissed, but willing to let it slide, just this once. "Fine. _Christ_. Because Dick told _me_ that he didn't give a shit about what Bruce said, and that I was his little brother, and that I always would be, no matter how much shit I put him through. That he would always, always care about me, however deep down he'd managed to push it. And you haven't committed even near my crimes, as you so aptly pointed out earlier. You've also had more time with him than I had. It stands to reason that you have an even better chance to still be part of the golden bird's loved ones."

It sounded almost like Jason was citing him directly, like what Dick had said had had that much of an impact on him, struck him that deep that he still remembered it to this day. Clark did recall that Dick had been the first to reach out, after him and Bruce. The one who had been most persistent, in the beginning. It had had an effect obviously, even if they hadn't been able to see it back then.   


"Oh," Tim said, but it sounded like a lightbulb had gone off, somewhere in the back of his brain, where there lay a tattered box named 'family', filled with pictures and memories of his mom and his dad, of Dick being a good brother and Bruce being a good father figure. Of Conner, and of his team. 

"Yeah. Look, Clark explained to me about a billion years ago that little brothers have double the capacity to piss off their older siblings than the other way around, because the older brother's supposed to be the mature, responsible one. That means little brothers have to tread a little lightly sometimes. Of course, I was also about twelve at the time, and Dick was more pissed at Bruce than he was pissed at me, but y'know. It's a valuable sort of lesson to keep in mind, when it comes to dealing with Dick."

Clark did remember having that conversation, if only very vaguely, after Jason had managed to rile Dick up so bad he left a Mandatory Sunday Dinner. It was... sort of heartening to hear that Jason had listened to that, still cared enough to remember that. 

"Um. This isn't like... about the two of us, is it?" Tim asked, sounding weirded out. 

"What? God, no, no. Jesus, Timbo, I told you not to ask. Actually, the moment I try to reconcile... whatever the fuck this is, just shoot me right in the head, put me out of my misery." 

"And there we have why that 'reconciliation' won't happen," Tim sassed. 

Jason snorted. "Knew you were a funny little guy. It's always the little ones."

"Oh shut up," Tim said, but it sounded less like the bite of a scorpion's stinger this time, more like an admonishment.   
Jason chuckled, a raspy sound that Clark enjoyed listening to when he got back out of the study, now with tea really on the mind.

"So, you taking off yet?" Jason asked, forcibly casual. He was probably putting his hands in his pockets, not wanting to scare Tim off. "You know it would bum pops out quite a bit. Alfred wouldn't be happy about it either."

Tim at least seemed to hesitate now. "I- I don't know."

He hummed, and the sound of boots on grates sounded again as Jason probably climbed towards the stone stairs up to the manor again. "Alright then. Tea's in the green room at four. Don't be late."

\---

Despite his threats in the beginning, Clark hadn't really expected that he'd be able to keep Jason in the manor with the rest of them, but while he may whine and complain and yell, Jason _wants_ to be here. He wants to be considered family, desperately wants Bruce and Dick's approval and Alfred's praise. He wants the family movie nights, the training sessions in the cave that was mostly just them gossiping with Barbara and whatever other Bird of Prey wanted to show up. 

He wants to get along with Dick, and he wants to get along with _Tim_ , who he hated on sight before. He's come a long way. It makes Clark think back, and he starts questioning why Dick is so mad at Jason, still. The only person Jason seems to really hate right now is Dick, and Bruce probably. Clark wonders if he can solve at least half of that. 

This time, Jason's smoking outside, not in the attic. Clark doesn't think he's abandoned his hidey-hole, or at least hopes not. According to Alfred, Jason helped carry some groceries inside before disappearing out the kitchen door. Clark finds him just a few feet away from it, glaring up at the clouds that are perpetually hanging over Gotham, even during the later winter months. 

"Hey kiddo. You cold?" Clark asked, rubbing his hands together. Jason flicked his cigarette a bit, shaking his head. "Okay. Good. I could go grab you some gloves, otherwise."

"I'm guessing you heard every word of Tim's little breakdown yesterday," Jason said bluntly, eyeing Clark up and down. "What are you gonna do 'bout it?"

"Nothing. You did something very nice, Jason. I'm thankful for you being there for him," Clark said, very earnestly. Tim didn't leave. He left for patrol, but came home and knocked on Clark's door to let him know there'd been no injuries on patrol and that he was tucking in now. It was nice, even when Tim had had a guilty look on his face when Clark said goodnight. 

Jason scoffed. "Yeah, alright."

Clark bit his lip, leaning back against the brickwork next to Jason. "I do have some questions, though. Not about Tim, really, just... Things that have started standing out to me now that I think back."

Jason side-eyed him, but grunted, putting the cigarette in his mouth again. "Shoot."

“Why did you even want the cowl?” he asked, waving smoke out of his face when Jason exhaled. He chewed on the filter of his cigarette distractedly, and shrugged. 

“It should’ve been mine,” he said simply. “I would do the best job.”

Clark groaned, and Jason’s eyes widened in surprise at his genuine sound of frustration. “Baby boy, how can you say that! You’d make an awful Batman!”

“Hey!” Jason said sharply, obviously offended. Clark sighed deeply, grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out underneath his shoe. 

“Have you considered the fact that _none_ of you kids would make a good Batman? Or even like it very much? Batman operates under a strict set of rules, which you all hate, mind you! His job involves living in the shadows and being quiet, things you're all practically incapable of! All he does is solve crimes and puzzles, both things which you also don't exactly love, and his whole thing is that he doesn’t kill, which you obviously don’t agree with. Why on earth would you want to be Batman, Jason?”

“I- I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Jason snapped, whipping out another cigarette from his pack in his jacket. Clark snatched that one up too, holding it up to his face to get Jason to look him in the eyes.

“You just wanted to be the hero again, honey. And that’s okay to admit. Dick hates being Batman, because that's not who he is, but he’s braving through because Gotham needs a Batman. When we get… him back, there will be more time for all of you to grow into yourselves more before he’s forced to pick any sort of successor. If you want to be a good guy again, there’s always talks to be had, things you can do to help.”

“You can’t even say his name,” Jason said, his voice quiet and raspy, a little shaky, though with rage or nerves, Clark couldn’t tell. “You love him that much, still? He didn’t even have the guts to _marry_ you. He left you with all this chaos. Nothing in his will for you, like you haven’t been here this whole time. Like you meant _nothing_ to him.” 

Jason’s breath smells like nicotine and bubble gum, and Clark takes a deep breath to get himself together, because without his dad there, whose buttons did Jason have left to push but his pop’s? Not to say it doesn't hurt Clark like a wound, because it does. Thankfully, he knows exactly how much Bruce loved him. He can pull strength from that. He also knows that if Jason does mean his sharp words, it's probably more because of a hatred for Bruce, than for him.

“Believe me, Jase, your dad and I have a lot to talk about when he comes back. But this is just as much about you and me, as it is about you and him. You want to be a hero again, and you don't want to crawl on your hands and knees to get there. And that's fine by me. Start by asking Tim what you can do for him in the search."

"What, I'm supposed to be on my best behavior for dip-shit? No guaranteed outcome? I don't agree with his principles," Jason snarled.

"And I don't doubt that you and him will hash that out when he comes back. I still believe that you want to do good, that you can _do_ good without having to kill anybody. I don't think any of us deserve to be the judge, jury, and executioner, but I know that you do, and it's something you believe strongly in. If you and him can keep a civilized debate about it without raising your voices though, I'll eat my hat. You're some of the smartest people I know. You can somehow figure out a compromise that can make everyone content."

"Who the hell has a hat nowadays anyway," Jason said, but there was a calculating look in his eyes. "You know that your feats of strength, the fact that B can throw people into walls; that paralyzes people from the head down. Being unconscious after a headwound more than five minutes mean you've gotten permanent brain damage. You get that you've killed people."

Clark blew out a breath. "Believe me when I say that I know that. When you have abilites like I do, the absolute worst thing to find out is how much you can hurt other people with them. But I _know_ that. It took me years to figure out how much force I can use to open a door without cracking it in half. As much time to understand what's a punch for me and what's a punch for a human. But there's a difference between accidentally hurting someone, and waking up one day and deciding that today, you're going to hurt someone. I always do my best to keep myself in check, but I'm- there have been times where I could've done better. Of course there are. Times that I regret. Not managing to rescue you, for example."

Jason hummed. "You heard that part, huh?"

"Yeah. I did. And I am sorry, for what it's worth. It's- I beat myself up about that for _so_ long. That one stupid JL mission in another galaxy kept me from saving my own son," Clark shook his head and fiddled with the cigarette in his hand, needing a moment to collect himself so the grief wouldn't strangle his voice. "I tried to quit the JL altogether after that, y'know. We both almost did. It was an alright size, at that time, but nobody was as trained as Batman was, when it came to strategy, and I still felt... responsible. I still do. I just-" Clark looked over at Jason, who was watching him with deep teal eyes, like he was trying to see into his soul. "For all that I'm Kryptonian, I'm also human. I was raised as one. I'm as fallible as one, sometimes. I think an old man is allowed a little time to grieve, don't you?"

Jason pursed his lips. "You're not an old man, yet. You're not forty."

Clark blinked, and then burst into genuine laughter. "Oh my gosh. You were so little when you first said that, kiddo," he smiled, scooting closer on the wall so he could sling an arm around Jason's shoulders and give him a stealthy side-hug. 

Jason's lips twitched as he watched his pop crack up, and then he rolled his eyes at his antics. "Yeah, well. I'm not that kid anymore."

"I know you're not. You're a proud young man. And you can't ever be that same kid again. I know that, just as I know I can't be who I was when I was eleven, or even the person I was when I was your age now. Time changes people. That's just how it goes. If we're lucky, we find people we can grow with, people who help us be our best selves. That's what I think friends and partners are for. And for me, it's also been family. You kids have made me into a better person, for every challenge you've put me through. I think you also have some of those friends. Right?"

"Mm. Roy's been on a self-help kick for a while," Jason agreed, tilting his head to the side.

Clark smiled. "That's good. He seems like a good young man, too."

"Ugh, why do you sound like you're a hundred years old? 'Young man' my ass," Jason grumbled. Clark chuckled again. 

"What, you want me to call you 'youths'?"

Jason gave him an incredulous look. "Don't be an idiot, pop. Who the hell says _youths_?" 

Clark's smile twisted into a wider grin. "Well, I don't know, Jase. Not me, at least." 

"Thankfully," he muttered.

They stood there in silence for a while, just watching as the clouds roiled over the sky, darkening as the sun behind them disappeared. 

"All I'm saying, Jason, is that you can be a good guy, still. All you have to do is take action like one," Clark said, squeezing his shoulder before pulling back, brushing his butt off to get rid of the brick-dust. 

"You don't think I've gone too far off the deep end, then?" Jason said, rolling his eyes, but his hands were tucked in his pockets to hide that they were clenched, his eyes too bright to be that casual. 

Clark sighed, and dragged his son into a real bear hug this time, pressing his cheek against Jason's stubbly one. "Another one of Batman's mantras? He believes in redemption, that people can do better if they're given the right support and _want_ to do better. Fighting crime is one thing Batman does, but Wayne Enterprises give jobs to freed convicts so they can get back on their feet when no one else will give them that chance. If you want that support, all you have to do is ask. You're a good boy, Jason. I know you are. You've had a rough time, and we want to help, but for that to happen, you have to want to be helped, too."

"I hate that he thinks he has the moral high ground, just because he doesn't kill," Jason said, his voice low against Clark's neck. "Like he's better just because he ruins people's lives with permanent injury instead of just ending them. Do you know that disability fucks people over because they don't get the money they need from disability checks? Some can't get married anymore, because then they lose that money, too."

Clark hummed. "I didn't know that. Those are things you can help fight, if you want to. Good people do good things."

"I don't know," Jason muttered, and Clark released him, so he could grab a hold of Jason's shoulders and meet his eyes. 

"You know, I had a similar conversation with Damian a while back, and he had the same argument. That he's 'too bad' to ever do anything good again. And I don't believe that for a second. Just like you can wake up and decide that you want to hurt someone today, you can wake up and decide that you're not going to do that. If you don't feel like you want to say yes to doing good things yet, you can just say no to what you used to do. And that will add up, in the end."

Jason pursed his lips, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "You a motivational speaker now, pop?"

"Comes with the parent gig," he agreed, smiling as he released Jason, and walked towards the kitchen door again. "Remember to grab Ace when you and Damian go out."

"Always do," Jason pointed out. "Damian won't let us go without her now, the little brat." He muttered some other choice words under his breath and pulled out another cigarette.

"We _will_ be rewatching 'Lilo and Stitch' to remind you of the sacredness of family. Don't test me," Clark said loudly, closing the door behind him to more of Jason's grumbling.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a younger sister myself, I know very well how easy it is to rile up older siblings. Just staring at a spot on my sister's forehead and going "nothing!" when she asks what I'm looking at will do it.  
> Thank you all for being awesome interactive readers who want to tell me what they think!! It encourages me and also broadens my perspectives, which is awesome, and adds just that bit of spice to my sleepy research times for this fic, lol.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all having a good holiday break, or at least some restful times now that there's.... four days of the hell year 2020? (time is a strange concept)  
> Also, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I am heaping on angst and fluff today! <3

It seems like the Dick-and-Jason fight is more about frustration with each other than anything else. Clark pondered this for a while, and then he shut the two of them into the batcave and made them sparr with each other; no weapons, just fists, a clean fight. They came out of it a little bloody and sporting a new collection of bruises, but with the sort of amiable bickering they'd had before, instead of the snarling and snapping. Clark is well aware that letting your kids beat on each other is probably not great parenting, but he's had to adapt to them being superheroes. This isn't the weirdest concession he's made because of that. 

At least, Jason not wanting to kick him in the head seems to take a bit of a weight off of Dick's chest, and it means the only reserved person at the occasionally full dinner table is Tim, who sits, and watches, biding his time. It also means Tim is eating badly, and Alfred's way of fixing this is basically plying Tim with snacks during the day. 

Clark was on his way up to Tim's room with such a tray of snacks. It was some vegetables and fruits, cut up and in little bowls. It reminded him a lot of what they'd made Jason snack on, when he was little and didn't like to eat lunch. Clark stole a grape before knocking on Tim's door. There was no answer, so he cracked the door open, peeking in. "Tim?"

Empty. Well, it was the afternoon. He could be elsewhere in the house, though it seemed unlikely now that he was avoiding Dick like the plague. Clark cast his hearing out over the house, listening to the creaking of the beams settling and the ticking of the clock in the study. He heard Damian clearing his throat, and instinctively focused on his voice. It wasn't behind him though. It was downstairs, in the kitchen. When Clark looped his hearing out further, he could tell that Damian wasn't alone in the kitchen. It wasn't Alfred's heartbeat though, or any of his brothers'. 

"Hmph. This is silly," Damian declared, sounding frustrated. "Ace. You are... a good girl." It was said with much solemnity, but from the jangle of Ace's collar, she'd trotted closer to him, obviously knowing what was being said to her. She should, with how often she was called a good girl. It was a shock she didn't think that was her name. "Oh! Eh, hello, Ace. Good girl?" This time it was questioning, but Clark also heard the wet sound of Ace licking what was probably Damian's outstretched hand. "Ah. Yes. Good girl."

Ace made a delighted little chuffing sound, making Damian let out a snort of laughter. It was such a sweet, childish chortle that Clark smiled too, enjoying hearing Damian sounding so care-free. 

That wasn't who he was looking for, though. Clark tried again, finding Tim's heartbeat downstairs in the cave, along with someone else. It felt very silly that he kept overhearing conversations like this, but with his superhearing, it was sort of a given, especially with his current penchant for eavesdropping. It seemed he'd landed in the middle of an altercation between Dick and Tim, and he hurried towards the study, careful not to smash any of the bowls on his tray. 

"-He was going to take off! And I knew you wouldn't do that," Dick said, his voice loud and out of breath, and with a little too much certainty. Tim would have been far gone by now Clark is sure, if he didn't need information Dick had, if the batcave wasn't guarded and filled with invaluable treasures. 

"Oh yeah? And how'd you know that?" Tim hissed. 

"Because you're family! You wouldn't- you wouldn't _do_ that, if you knew we needed you." 

That statement was met with ringing silence, only Tim and Dick's pissed off breathing filling Clark's ears. Clark set the tray down on the desk, again stopping before the clock. He couldn't hear any punches being thrown. 

"Dick," Tim finally said, his voice deathly quiet and dangerous. "I would've taken off immediately if Babs hadn't locked down the files. Because I couldn't get to them, I stayed until I could figure it out on my own, or hack into her admittedly amazing security. And then I was going to leave. The only reason I still haven't left now is because Clark believed me. He didn't immediately call me crazy, like _you_ did. He listened to me, gave me fucking ten minutes of his time to explain my thought process without ridiculing me, and I know you hate being Batman, but that wasn't your bullshit to pull on me. And you can't make me _like_ Damian. If I remember correctly, you goddamn hated Jason for a while, and he hadn't even done anything offensive, like try to murder you. Yet."

"I said the wrong thing earlier, about that," Dick hurried to say. "I didn't mean that Damian was cut slack for that. I meant that he knows what he did was wrong and that he's trying to do better now. He hasn't bothered you since, because he's giving you your space."

"Yeah, being ignored in my own house, that's- that's awesome, Dick, it's exactly what I wanted," Tim snapped. "It would've been better if he'd just- if he'd taken off in the first place."

"What, you wanted me to just let him go?" Dick asked incredulously.

"What on earth persuaded you to keep him?" Tim asked, seemingly just as baffled.

"He's just a kid, Tim! A kid who lost a parent, who just needed someone to guide him somewhere safe, somewhere he can use his weird abilities to do good. You should know exactly why I kept him, because it was the exact same reason Bruce and Clark kept you."

"It's not the same. He's a murderous kid."

"Yeah, and you were a goddamn stalker! But I looked at you, and I saw that you'd do _so_ much good if only someone would give you a chance. Bruce was still so torn up after Jason that he wasn't even really considering it until Clark and I talked him into it. I- I was the first Robin. It was my mom's nickname for me when I was a kid. It'll always belong just a little bit to me. But you made me so proud with what you did, wearing those colors. It was time for them to go to someone else, someone who needed them more."

" _Needed_ them more?" Tim said, his tone raw. "I needed them more than anyone when Bruce disappeared. You gave up being Robin, Dick, and you can't just force me to do the same. Just because you gave up being Robin to be Nightwing-"

Dick scoffed. " _Yeah_ , because I couldn't be under Bruce's thumb anymore! Robin is... It's being twelve and running around after Batman, learning new things about crooks all the time and thinking crime-fighting is all fun and games. You're better than that, Tim. You _know_ better than that. You're smart, and strong, and the best detective out of all of us. I couldn't keep you as the Robin to my Batman, because it would feel wrong to have someone who's my equal act as a sidekick, when in reality, you'd probably make a better Batman than me. Being Red Robin... isn't that better for you, as a person? As a superhero?"

"That wasn't your decision to make for me, Dick. You didn't even _ask_."

"I'm sorry! Okay, I'm _sorry_ , Tim. It was a weird situation. I- I was very focused on trying to find Clark, stop Gotham from falling apart without B here, and keeping Damian from leaving. I was stretched thin, and I had to prioritize."

"I'm- I'm your little brother too, Dick," Tim said, his voice scratchy. "And you prioritized Damian over me. _Replaced_ me."

Dick seemed to step closer, from the shuffling of feet on stone. "I could _never_ replace you, Tim. You- you're my little brother, and you always will be. No matter how much of a jerk you are to me, you're still my little brother. Okay? I just- I knew you could handle yourself. Better than Damian could at the time. He's a little dingbat sometimes, and I know that. I didn't mean to push you away-"

"Then why did you immediately dismiss me when I came to you with my thoughts on what happened to Bruce? Because that's... That was a surefire way to do it," Tim said, with a heartbreaking little laugh.

Clark thinks that it's the fact that Dick got to beat the snot out of Jason recently that means he doesn't immediately go for Tim's exposed, metaphysical throat. He stops, he thinks before he speaks. He's a little calmer now, no longer clinging to his sanity through rigorous training and sheer stubbornness. Instead of yelling, he explains.

"I- it was suddenly just... Another thing to _do_. And I was juggling what felt like a billion things at the time. Damian being Robin, Clark still being missing, the JL asking me for directions like they're not like, a hundred superheroes strong. About a thousand people trying to contact me, asking for the real Batman, and just the thought that B might be out there, and still leaving me to deal with his bullshit-" Dick took a deep, shaky breath to gather himself. "It was- It was too much. I just wanted that problem gone and out of my life."

Tim swallowed audibly. "And now?"

Dick seemed to consider that, too. "I don't- Why do you care so much if I believe you anyway? Clark believes you."

"Batman's name opens a lot more doors than Red Robin, or even Superman. Ra's was going to help me, but-"

"Ra's _al Ghul_?" Dick repeated, scandalized. 

" _Yes_ , Ra's al Ghul. He was going to help me, and then Clark told him to fuck off, so then I was all on my own again. The JL dismissed me because you didn't believe me. None of B's magician contacts want anything to do with me when you've got the cowl, because you wouldn't sign off on it. I can't get Bruce back without your Batman-shaped stamp of approval, and it's been _frustrating_ that you wouldn't even listen to me."

Clark hadn't even considered that. He knew Bruce had a lot of contacts that he kept up with sporadically, but he'd never actually considered why he'd been doing that, when he so hated to be social. It was true, however, that Batman's authority stretched far, and people willing to help the Red Robin when he was no longer affiliated with Batman... that was a short list. Shorter, apparently, than Clark had previously thought. The JL had dismissed him?

"Oh," Dick said. Yeah, Clark thought. _Oh_. "I didn't know you were talking to Ra's al Ghul."

"Yeah, well. If you'd listened to me, you would know," Tim said, in a very petty way. 

"You haven't been listening to me either. That's frustrated me a lot, too. Damian is getting better. I know you don't wanna hear it, but you'd hate him less if you got to know him better. I just know it. He's a bit of a brat sometimes, yeah, but he's had quite the screwed up childhood," Dick pointed out.

"I had a screwed up childhood, too. That's not really a good excuse, in this house. I mean, except maybe to Clark, with his sunshine and roses childhood. What a freak," Tim muttered, infinitely fond. 

Dick chuckled. "Yeah, I guess. Let's not go comparing awfulness with awfulness."

"It's all still awful, and we'll be here all night," Tim agreed hesitantly. Clark grinned, hearing his Ma's words come from his kids. Out of the mouths of babes. It was nice to hear that he had some sort of influence over them, when it felt like he was doing a shit job of being their pop. At least Ma had gotten through to them.

"Yeah," Dick agreed. They stood in awkward silence for a while, the tap-tap of Dick's fingers against his thigh indicating he didn't really know what to do, now that this hadn't turned into a screaming match. 

"Look, I-"

"Um, we-"

They both cut themselves off as soon as they noticed the other person was speaking. 

"You go ahead," Dick hurried out. 

"Right. I- I appreciate your apology, Dick. But I think I'll need quite a bit of time to... accept your decision."

"Take all the time you need," Dick said, his voice as firm as a team leader's, and as gentle as a big brother's, indicating he wasn't about to change his mind anytime soon. "I might need some time, too."

"Okay," Tim said, sounding very reluctant. "So, uh. How long until tea?"

There was the clinking of Dick's sleeve buttons hitting against the glass of his watch, like he'd shaken it to see the time. Clark also looked at the clock in front of him, and sighed. Dashing towards the cave in a panic was happening too often, nowadays. He rubbed at his face tiredly. "Like an hour, at least. Want to sparr until then?" Dick asked. 

"Yeah," Tim replied, his tone positively bloodthirsty. 

Clark sat down in one of the cushy, low chairs in front of Bruce's desk, tossing a grape in the air to catch it in his mouth. He listened as the two of them set up on the sparring mats, shedding what was probably Dick's jacket and Tim's hoodie, and warming up in tandem. Clark would go downstairs in a few minutes, maybe bring some bottles of water. Pretend he hadn't heard at least half of their argument. 

For now, he enjoyed the taste of a ripe mango slice, and leaned back in his chair, listening to Damian demanding that he and Jason take Ace out for a walk right now and that he be allowed to put her leash on. 

\---

Tim and Dick aren't exactly on great terms, but they seemed to have reached some sort of an understanding. They talk at the dinner table again, and although it's hesitant, with Jason elbowing Dick and kicking Tim under the table to keep them talking, it's being smoothed out like so many other wrinkles in these past few months. They're both trying to make amends, at least. Sometimes, they even smile at each other, and while the peace is brittle, it's still _peace_. 

It sneaks up on Clark. He doesn't notice how they've all started encroaching on his space, even Damian, until he one night recalls that he hasn't had to break up a fight in almost a week, and when he looks up from what he's reading to share this fact, they're all _there_ with him in the library. 

Somehow, it has become a routine that after dinner, that they all sit down in the same room and just... do their own things. Clark writes or reads, Tim does his research, Jason reads curled up like a cat on the couch with Ace's head in his lap, Damian draws, and Dick's shoulders relax all the way for what seems like the first time since Bruce disappeared. It's usually only a few hours at most, before the kids all slip out for patrol in their own separate sectors, but it's just so much better than before that Clark can barely believe it. 

On that first night, he shares an incredulous, delighted look with Alfred, and he probably looks like he just had an epiphany, because Alfred shoots him one of those rare, prouder than a peacock smiles, like Clark is doing something _good_ , and for the first time in ages, he considers putting on his suit and going for a fly to the sun. 

He doesn't, in the end, but the way Damian and Jason bicker over the proper coloring of a zebra and the way Dick's eyes glance over at Tim's notes like he's trying to read them upside down makes the same warmth spread over Clark's skin, like if he'd spent hours tanning on the beach. 

\--- 

The thing that's probably weirdest about the situation for Clark, is co-parenting Damian with his oldest son. Dick's been Damian's prime caretaker until Clark convinced Jason to get involved, and now that the whole... mood in the manor is less strained, Dick asks him questions all the time. What Clark and Bruce did different with Jason in comparison to him, how the hell you're supposed to convince kids that gross food is actually good for you (Damian isn't a picky eater as much as a _combative_ one. Clark reminds Dick that they had to bribe Jason to eat particular things with reading the next chapters in first edition tomes of books. Neither of them think that's going to be particularly effective with Damian). 

At least, they agree on how to handle him most of the time. Dick is surprisingly a little stricter than Clark when it comes to things like when to be in bed and how much screen time he gets, as if Bruce doing the same didn't drive him up the wall as a kid. It's another reminder that while Clark was an active part of Dick's childhood, he's very much Bruce's child and doesn't even really seem to notice it. He takes charge in any situation, sticks to his guns whenever he's questioned, and has the same kind of know-how that makes Batman such an unquestionable hero. The difference Clark notices most is that he distributes affection more freely.

And Damian needs it. God, does he need it. He's obviously been raised with only negative reinforcement, and his values are atrociously dehumanizing. He throws temper tantrums like a toddler, but much more destructive. He doesn't know how to communicate his feelings any other way, even if he's improved a lot since he first got there, is improving every day.

Clark knows that Damian is napping in the other study since it's after lunch time, so he manages to corner Dick, who's only recently woken up and is getting cereal in the kitchen, to talk about him without his little ears overhearing. Jason is in the kitchen too, but he's sort of also involved with Damian's welfare now, so Clark doesn't think it's overstepping. 

"I think we need a way to teach Damian some empathy. He seems to struggle with it a lot, still. Right?" he asked.

Dick blinked, still not properly awake and with his bowl of cereal cradled to his chest like he was protecting it from the rest of the world. "Right," he said slowly.

"Yeah, he's pretty bad. Not psychopath bad yet, but not great," Jason agreed from over at the kitchen table, a book, half eaten sandwiches and half a cup of tea in front of him. He didn't even look up as he did a see-saw hand motion.

"Right. I think a lot of the core values of a superhero is believing in the inherent worth of a person, just because they're a person. Damian doesn't agree."

"It's warriorhood for him," Dick agreed, blinking a couple of more times and spooning some cereal into his mouth. "That's the only worth someone has, according to him."

"And we need to change that," Clark declared, leaning against the kitchen island. "Being a vigilante is easy. You just need to be able to throw a punch and not get caught by police. What separates a vigilante from a hero is acknowledging that no matter what, the people you're fighting have rights just because they exist, and they need to be respected."

"I take offense to that," Jason declared. "It took me several years of training to be a good vigilante."

"You mean to be a good serial-killer," Dick pointed out sleepily.

Jason considered that, looking up from his book and tilting his head. "I prefer the term outlaw, actually, now that you mention it."

Clark shook his head to get them back on topic. "Damian needs to feel compassion, and empathy, and sympathy. If he can't gather that for a person, we start smaller than that. He's not cruel, or anything. Just blunt and sharp, in turns. Therefore, I suggest we get him a pet."

"You should get him a dog," Jason said, flipping to the next page of his book. "It's what you did with me, right? And that worked. Sort of."

Clark blinked. "We got you Ace because you didn't care if someone _shot_ at you, and it was giving B higher blood pressure, watching you throw yourself into danger for no good reason. We wanted you to get it through your sweet, rock hard skull that a lot of someones want you to come back at the end of the night."

Jason stared at him like he was speaking gibberish. "I thought you got me Ace to teach me empathy for the crazy criminal bastards."

Clark gaped back. "No. Though I'm very glad it also had some of that effect on you." He pictured Bruce's smug look back when Jason had improved with Ace by his side, and pressed his fingertips into the divots by his eyebrows to attempt to stave off a headache. His sneaky bat. "Maybe it was for that, too, now that I think about it. Dang B and his ulterior motives."

Dick finally seemed a little more awake, putting his now finished bowl down in the kitchen sink and leaning back against the counter. "He does seem to like Ace a lot, even though she's not very fond of him. And I do remember Jason becoming less of a jerkwad when he started caring about Ace. I think a dog is a lot of responsibility for him right now, though. He's only been Robin a few months. And he's barely sleeping enough as it is. Also he's ten. He's got a lot going on for being ten."

"Not a dog then. Something more independent, but something he can hold in his hands, feel some sort of connection to," Clark cajoled. Dick still looked a little hesitant.

"Not a bunny," Jason said, now back to his book. "Those fuckers live forever. And Ace would kill it, probably. She wouldn't mean it, of course, but she always wants to run after them when we see any on our walks. Also, not a hamster because they're boring. Lian had one for a while and all it did was sleep and bite. It made me, if anything, less sympathetic."

"I was thinking a cat," Clark said, raising his eyebrows at Dick. "Though your input is very appreciated, Jase." Jason shot him a sloppy salute, and read on.

"A cat?" Dick said, twisting his lips to one side in thought. He hummed. "That could be nice. Those guys take care of themselves a lot, but still want snuggling. That could definitely work."

"Cats are cool. Damian liked Aristocats when we watched it," Jason pointed out.

"And there are a lot of kittens that end up in shelters and could use a good home," Clark agreed, delighted that they thought this was a good plan. Of course, he still had to talk to Alfred about it first. It would add some tasks to Damian's chore list, that was for sure, but it would also affect Alfred, who did the majority of the cleaning around here.

Dick hummed again, rubbing his eye and turning the coffee maker on. The smell of it attracted Tim, who dropped in ten minutes later, in a Metro U sweater that was Clark's old one, and also about three to four sizes too big for him. He was also wearing pajama pants with Bludhaven PD pasted in faded colors on one leg, pants that were definitely Dick's. Taking another glance at the other two, Clark saw that Dick's hoodie was probably Jason's, and Jason's sweatpants was an old worn pair of Bruce's.

He guessed that was what happened when you had a lot of brothers and all of their cozy clothes were within reach whenever the laundry basket was placed outside their rooms for pick-up. Clark pressed a kiss to the top of Tim's tired head, ruffling his hair to Tim's sleepy grumbling as his fingers scrabbled over the counter to get to one of the coffee mugs Dick was filling.

"Don't have too much," Clark admonished. "Do you want to run an errand with me tomorrow?"

"Mrrn?" Tim questioned, his mouth now around the rim of the cup and not understandable, even to Clark's superhearing.

"An errand. Tomorrow. We'll have to go into town, but I can make it worth your while. We can go get coffee from that fancy place you like, maybe a croissant or something yummy like that," Clark offered.

Tim squinted up at him. "Is this a bribe? It feels like a bribe," he said suspiciously.

"Nope. I just think you should get to help when we pick the family's next pet," Clark said. "Also, thinking about croissants made me really want some."

"Pet?" Tim said skeptically.

"Technically we're getting a cat so Damian can learn what empathy is, because he's shit at that," Jason declared, squinting over at Tim's face. "Did you actually get socked in both eyes in one night, or do you just have those giant racoon shiners all the time?"

"My eyebags are Gucci, fucker," Tim mumbled, flipping him off as he rested his head on the kitchen island, his lips still almost touching his mug. Jason snorted and shook his head, turning back to his book.

Clark brushed Tim's hair back, folding his middle finger back down. "Language, Tim. How long did you even sleep?"

"Six hours maybe," Tim mumbled.

"That can't be right," Dick protested mildly. "We got back way before you did, and I got like six and a half."

"Come to think of it, Timmy boy's bike was still out when I got back, and I don't have a kiddy bed-time," Jason pointed out.

"Tim," Clark chastised. "Why were you out so late? What happened? You should've called for back-up so you could go home and sleep. I would've helped."

Tim waved them all off as he sat up straight enough to down more coffee. "I'm fine. I wasn't out much later than Jason."

Clark grabbed Tim's mug out of his hand and slid it over the kitchen island's stone surface to Dick, much to Tim's protests. Dick placed it on the other counter, perilously close to the sink. "You're getting no more of that," Clark declared. "Tim. You don't even have any meetings today! Why didn't you sleep in?"

"How do you even know my schedule, Clark?" Tim asked, locking eyes with Dick challengingly. Dick just raised equally challenging eyebrows back.

Clark decided to head that off, cupping the back of Tim's neck and squeezing. "Your secretary Jenny calls here when she can't get a hold of your cellphone. Also, I'm a hermit. All I do now is butt into my kids' lives."

"Hear hear," Jason muttered under his breath. Dick snickered, and Clark shot Jason a 'you shut it' look.

Tim shook his head a little, testing Clark's firm grip. "Are we sure Damian's not gonna skin the pet alive?" he muttered spitefully.

"Yeah," Jason said. Dick nodded as well. "The brat isn't that wacko yet. I don't think any pet's unsafe in his hands. You should see how goddamn hard he tries with Ace."

"But she still doesn't trust him anywhere close," Tim pointed out.

Jason hummed, a thoughtful sound. "She lets him pet her sometimes. It's been happening more often now than ever. She let him put her collar on and hold her leash the whole of our run yesterday. They're both learning who's to be trusted."

"I still think it's a bad idea," Tim muttered.

"Alright. Then you'll have to be the cat's secondary guardian, to make sure he or she is alright, if you're so concerned," Clark declared, brushing his thumb over Tim's hairline.

"A cat? Okay, nevermind. The cat will kill Damian before he manages to kill it."

"Don't be such a skeptic, Timmy. Cat's are cool. Why would we have the expression 'the cat's pyjamas' if they weren't?" Dick asked, waving his hands a little.

Okay. Apparently none of Clark's kids had enough sleep. That's fine. He could fix that. Not permanently, but for the day. One day at a time was Clark's motto nowadays. "Now that that's settled, do you guys want to watch a movie?" he asked leadingly.

"Sure," Dick said, yawning. "I don't have any paperwork anyway."

"Only if I get to pick the movie," Jason said, a gleam in his eyes.

"No Sharknado. Those movies suck, Jase, and I don't understand why you need to see them. And none of your freaky, five hour foreign movies either, you snob," Dick declared firmly, moving to make popcorn.

"Fanny and Alexander is an Oscar-winning classic, and you're a pleb," Jason said just as firmly, smacking his book closed to stand up and grab his own snacks, as well as put his dishes away. Never let it be said that Alfred hadn't instilled the worth of picking up after themselves in the kids. He'd struck out with Bruce, though, who was surprisingly messy for being such an otherwise meticulous man. 

"No calling each other plebs or snobs," Clark said loudly to be heard over Jason and Dick's continued bickering as they got soda from the fridge. Jason childishly stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and chewed loudly in Dick's ear, to his eldest's screeching disgust. Clark patted Tim's shoulder. "C'mon, get you some food. Want me to slap together a grilled cheese for you?"

Tim furrowed his eyebrows and sat up straight, yawning. "Nah. I think I'm just gonna go review my notes, maybe check in with Jenny and the stock market, or whatever."

"Oh come on Timmy, it won't be the same without you," Jason said, his tone sarcastic.

Dick elbowed Jason in the chest, making the other boy laugh and rub at his sternum. "What he said, but genuinely."

"If you're not going to let me make you a grilled cheese, at least grab some snacks and sit with us. You can check the stocks and check in with Jenny from the couch," Clark cajoled.

Tim pursed his lips, but finally shook his head in resignation and sighed. "We're watching Shawshank Redemption, and that's final."

This sparked wild protests from Jason and Dick, who pitched other ideas all the way up to the sitting room with the largest TV. Finally, after much debate, they settled on Carrie, because it satisfied Tim's need for Stephen King, Dick's want for drama, and Jason's desire for 'bad-ass-bitchery'.

Clark dragged Jason and Tim onto the couch with him, but Dick hopped onto the loveseat so he could save a spot for Damian, should he show up. Wrapping Tim up in a blanket and one of Clark's arms did the trick, in the end. He was out like a light with his head propped up on Clark's shoulder, his mouth a little open to let out the softest of snores. Jason had his feet shoved in under Clark's thighs for the warmth, and he and Dick flicked popcorn at each other for the beginning of the movie, and then spent the rest in silence, resting their heads against the armrests, their hair almost brushing with how little space there was between their heads.

 _One day at a time_ , Clark thinks, and holds still for the rest of the movie so he doesn't wake Tim up.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that one of my pet peeves in literature is people overhearing a conversation from start to finish? Well, now you know. It just isn't realistic to me??? Okay I'm not going to get started on that. Hrm. Also I'm realizing that I'm missing Bruce but also I have stuff written until he gets back that I am NOT erasing so... y'know. We'll get there.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new years! May 2021 be less bleak and draining. Welcome to the screamin' twenties, people!  
> Enjoy! <3

Together, he and Tim decide on a tuxedo kitten with two black spots right under his little nose, like a mustache. Tim held the little cat and smiled, the first good smile on his face that Clark has seen since he came back. It encouraged him quite a bit, actually. Tim had a hand in the cage all the way home, and stayed in the car when Clark dashed into the Petsmart to get some essentials. He figured they could buy a few different toys now, and then when they figure out what the kitten really likes, they could buy those in bulk. Ace was a pretty destructive puppy until she learned obedience, though thankfully it was mostly just her own toys, so Clark knows that it's a good plan to buy in bulk. 

"Everybody come meet the new Wayne!" Clark called into the foyer when the two of them stepped inside, the crate in Tim's arms. 

"New Wayne? Have more kids and I'll kill you," he heard Dick mutter under his breath. Clark huffed out a laugh as Jason and Damian's heads popped out of the sitting room upstairs to the left. Dick and Alfred appeared out of the kitchen to the right, and were the first to approach when Tim put the crate down in the middle of the entryway. 

"Meet our new cat!" Clark declared, though all of them could probably see, from the size of the crate and the big Petsmart bags in his arms. 

"Why have you purchased a cat?" Damian demanded. 

"It's for you, little D," Dick grinned. 

Damian blinked. "...For me?" he asked suspiciously, like this was a prank or something. 

"If you want him," Clark agreed. Damian didn't answer that, but peeked into the crate curiously. Clark put a hand out with a treat in it, and the kitten meowed, padding out into his hand. "He's a tuxedo cat, though the shelter doubts that he's a purebred, and he's about ten weeks old. Isn't he a handsome little fellow?"

"Like a proper butler," Jason grinned, ducking down to hold his hand out to the kitten. "This is one of yours, Pennyworth."

"An honored colleague, Master Jason. I'm sure he will be hacking up hairballs on my carpets in no time, very helpfully of course," Alfred agreed, but he still smiled down at the kitten, leaning over to scratch a finger gingerly under his chin. 

"Alfred the Cat, then," Damian said, in a very determined fashion. He didn't look up at his brothers, which was probably for the best. If he had been looking, he would've seen the wide grin on Jason's face which plainly declared mocking was imminent, and Dick closing his eyes like he was trying to focus on not cooing, which also promised embarrassment. It was bit of a childish name to give a cat, but Alfred their butler looked very touched, his smile small but warm as he gazed at the back of Damian's head. 

"That's a good name." Clark's head snapped up to look in surprise at Tim, who was staring at Damian's face with a calculating look on his face. Dick, too, seemed to blink at him speaking up, and Jason's grin turned into a smug smirk. "Better than Ace, at least," Tim added.

Jason's smile slipped and turned into an offended frown. "Hey! Don't talk about my girl like that, Timbo. Them's fighting words." 

Clark smiled. "She wasn't exactly housebroken when we got her. She might've thought her name was 'look at me' in the beginning, with how hard they had to practice that command. At least Ace is better than that. Or 'yes', which probably would've been her second guess." Jason rolled his eyes at Clark. 

"Yes, well. Alfred suits his coloring, as Todd pointed out," Damian said, stretching a hand out towards the kitten, who swiped after his hand with an angry paw and a little hiss. Damian's eyes glittered. "Hm. A formidable warrior, too."

"Maybe one at a time, kids? I think it's a lot for Alfred the Cat right now," Clark said, nudging Dick's calf. Alfred snagged the Petsmart bags off the floor before Clark could protest, and went to unpack them in the kitchen, and Dick and Jason followed, for lack of anything better to do. Tim remained behind the crate, by Clark's side. 

Damian approached again, his hand lifting slowly towards the kitten, who meowed again. Carefully, Damain stroked one fingertip between his soft little ears. In general, Alfred the Cat seemed to have a bit longer fur than Clark thought was normal for just the regular tuxedo cat, but that just meant his fur was way softer than one would expect, something Damian seemed to enjoy a lot, if his glowing eyes were to talk. 

"So, Damian. You know how Alfred the Cat came from a shelter?" Clark said, scratching Alfred's soft side, much to the kitten's liking. Clark had always had trouble remembering what a big guy he was, especially when he was just being himself, at home and relaxed. Alfred the Cat's size in comparison to his hand was sort of crazy to look at, for that exact reason. 

"Yes," Damian said suspiciously. "What about it?"

"Do you know what that means?" Clark asked. "What a shelter does?" Damian didn't like admitting to not knowing things, pretty much ever. He had the same stubborn look on his face as whenever that had happened before, like he was going to say _yes_ like Clark was an imbecile for even asking such a thing. 

Tim didn't even let him open his mouth, though. "They take care of rescued animals. Cats, dogs, even some wild animals, though I'm pretty sure that's a limited service they offer. There were a couple of squirrel babies there today, according to the volunteer. Mostly though, they're there to help animals who've been hurt or left out in the cold by other humans."

Clark watched Tim for a moment in silence, before he nodded. "Exactly, Tim. Thank you. It means that someone left Alfred the Cat somewhere when he was too small, or too incapable to care for himself. He still needed his mom to surive, but someone took that away from him. So he needs other support. Like you, and Tim, and everyone in the house. Do you think that's Alfred the Cat's fault?"

"Fault?" Damian questioned, like he was suspicious that this was a trap. His narrow-eyed gaze flicked between Tim and Clark, his eyebrows furrowing. Thankfully, Tim could keep a poker-face. Of course, it sort of was a trap, but Clark didn't let on, instead remaining focused on Alfred's little pleased face. "He's a kitten. How could he be at fault?"

Clark nodded. "You're entirely right. He was helpless and couldn't do anything to affect what had happened to him. That's why it's up to us to give him that help, to get him healthy, and whole, and to give him a good home. Sometimes animals, even people, just need a helping hand. Someone to understand and care for them when they're in their time of need."

"And that's what we're for," Tim agreed, scratching Alfred the Cat's side and making the kitten tip over with a pleased little mewl. His words were perhaps a little heavier than the situation warranted, but Clark nodded anyway. 

"Come on. Let's grab the stuff we got. Now, Alfred the Cat is going to add a few chores to your list. Like cleaning out his litter box and making sure he has the food and the water he needs, but I know you'll take the best care of him," Clark encouraged. 

"Yes," Damian said, with certainty. 

Tim scooped Alfred up with an easy hand, and Damian watched like a hawk as Tim made sure he was safe in his arms, with only minor wiggling due to the height. They made their way into the kitchen, where Tim set Alfred down on the kitchen island. This time, Dick couldn't keep in the coo at the kitten's cuteness, and they spent a good twenty minutes playing with Alfred the Cat until he stopped being interested in the jingling toys and the little felt mice. 

When Tim seemed satisfied that Damian wouldn't kill Alfred the Cat in his absence, he disappeared out of the kitchen, while Jason found Ace so they could introduce the new member of the family to her. She sniffed at the kitten but didn't really seem displeased with this development. Same with Alfred the Cat. It was really all they could ask for that they didn't immediately try to kill each other. Ace was a little excited afterwards, though, so Jason and Dick took her out into the garden, leaving Alfred, his namesake, Clark, and Damian alone in the warm kitchen. 

The kitten seemed more inclined to snuggle now, at least. Alfred the butler tsked, and the kitten trotted over to him, plopping down in front of him on the one end of the kitchen island. The butler rubbed the little tufts of hair at the tips of Alfred the Cat's ears while stroking the rest of his tiny body. "I think our newest member is part Maine Coon, or something similar. Then again, it's hard to tell with moggies. Ten weeks old, you said, Master Clark?"

"That's what the shelter guessed, yeah. The foster had him from when he was what they thought was around four weeks up until a few days ago," Clark explained, smiling as Damian observed Alfred the Cat's flopped out form with narrowed eyes, watching as their butler's aged hands petted his fine dark fur. 

"He seems a bit large for that, but I suppose I haven't seen a kitten in quite some time. Very... fluffy for just a regular tuxedo cat," Alfred remarked thoughtfully. "If Alfred the Cat is some part Maine Coon, you are quite lucky, Master Damian."

"How so, Pennyworth?" Damian demanded. 

"Maine Coons are quite companionable creatures. They tend to be very loyal and large," Alfred explained, in his patient-teacher tone. "Their fur also seems to have no end. I look forward to showing you how to get it out of the antique couches without ruining the upholstery.

Damian sniffed, and carefully got a hand around Alfred the Cat's tummy the way he'd seen Tim do it earlier, lifting the kitten down to the floor. "Come, Alfred, before Pennyworth decides that this lesson must be taught _now_." 

The kitten meowed, and when it didn't follow Damian immediately, the boy huffed, and carefully picked him up again, hurrying out of the room. 

\---

For all that Tim and Dick's most recent argument cleared the air between the two of them, it's also set Clark's investigative reporter brain into gear. When he cornered Tim about why he hadn't gone to the Justice League when Dick told him off, Tim explained that he'd tried contacting a number of JL members, all who dismissed him. 

Clark acknowledges that maybe Dick being Batman and also not believing him probably factored into this somehow, but he's still ready to fly off the handle at his teammates. He understands if some people who don't know Tim's brilliance didn't understand, but Blue Beetle? Atom? _Wonder Woman_? They know how much Tim knows, that his opinions have weight and are usually closely tied to the facts. They know he's no fool. 

Atom and Blue Beetle might've felt the need to ally with their new Batman, and Diana probably didn't take him seriously by chalking it up to grief, because she likes to think that love turns into all grief the moment someone stops existing, like the on and off of a light switch. She's wrong, and it's one of the few instances where she and Clark actually disagree on something. 

He can't excuse any of their behavior just because he understands, though. In the intervening few weeks after Bruce's disappearance when Tim was convinced that Bruce was alive and he and Dick hadn't had their falling out yet, the JL could have helped. They _should_ have helped, because Batman's opinion does not equal Robin's opinion, and this time, it was pretty dang obvious that that was the case. 

Once he finally manages to coax himself into donning his suit again, he stares at it, and himself for a long time in the mirror. It's... strange. Alfred mended its few rips and kept it safe for him all these months. Clark looks like a ghost of a person still, though he has more color in his cheeks now than he did before, looks a little more alive. He doesn't actually think he can fly to the Watch Tower though, so he takes a Zeta tube up, the weird tingling sensation of being pulled apart and put together making his skin itch. 

While he was greeted with a lot of incredulous stares, once he got the senior members of the Justice League into a conference room, Clark yelled at the JL for not listening to Tim, for losing precious time, for every reason under the goddamn sun in an impressive event the juniors name “the Super-solar flare” because they think they’re funny. In no time, Tim gets to do his little spiel for them, and while most are convinced, the ones who aren't were pestered by Superman until they believe. He knows he can cut an imposing figure, but if that's what's needed to get the JL to work with them, he's going to do it. Dick sits there in the Batman suit with his arms crossed the whole time, but doesn't actually protest out loud, even when the skeptics shoot him incredulous looks. 

The coming few weeks, the senior members of the Justice Leage who know their secret identities start dropping in for dinner, bringing artifacts and information, with Tim as the master-coordinator of all facts. Clark doubts they'll ever manage to see the wallpaper in Tim's room ever again as he tacks index card after index card to the walls, still organizing information like he's trying to find the illuminati. At least it makes his research more concrete, tangible to the JL-members who need to see it to believe it. 

“You were sort of right, I suppose,” Clark said to Dick one evening, when Diana and Tim sat at their dinner table, discussing mythology. The two of them were hiding in the kitchen, peeking out at Diana and Tim as they talked animatedly. “He’s probably outgrown being Robin. I understand why he’s been mad at you, though. That mantle was all he felt he had left, tying him to this family.”

“What? He’s part of this family whether he’s Robin or not,” Dick huffed. 

Clark tipped his head back, mourning for a hot second that he couldn’t share an incredulous look with his partner at Dick’s nonchalant, ignorant words. 

“ _Sweetheart_. Of course he is. He just...doesn't agree. Tim was never adopted into this family before he declared himself emancipated so he could get his inheritance from Jack Drake. Both you and Jason were legally family before we introduced you to the superhero community and Robin, and he came here and demanded it. He's bad at connecting with people, and all he had was Robin for a while there, when he was getting friend after stability after parent ripped away from him. Gosh, do you even remember how pissed off you were when Jason became Robin, despite you becoming Nightwing before he ever so much as glanced at the cape? You snatched it clear out of Tim's hands and tossed it to Damian before he could protest.”

"Robin was mine first," Dick pointed out mulishly. 

"Yes, and of course it will always be part of you. But Robin is something bigger now than what it was when you held the mantle first. _Tim_ made Robin something more, turned Robin into a hero in his own right. It's meant so much to him. And that's something both of you should be proud of, that you've managed to make Robin such a big deal, that it means so much to both of you. But that also means that you need to acknowledge that you punting Robin to Damian, while ultimately your choice to make as both the current Batman and the first Robin, hurt him a lot. And as you well know from when Jason became Robin, that's the kind of hurt that takes some extra time to heal from." 

“That’s not the same thing,” Dick protested. "Bruce gave Robin to Jason without even-" He snapped his mouth shut, frowning as he realized just who he sounded like. 

Clark saw him have this epiphany, and nodded. “No, you’re right. This was probably worse for Tim, because he had no support when it happened. I dropped the ball on this one and wasn’t there for him, or there to bonk you on the head about communicating with your brother why you felt Damian needs the cape more. That part’s on me. You’re usually just so perceptive that I thought you’d see it, but I tend to forget that it was mainly your dad who raised you after we took you in, and you have the same bedside manners.”

“What do you mean, mainly Bruce? This is as much a dad-product as a pop-product.” He did a little hand motion to encompass himself, looking a bit guilty, at least. "And I'll have you know my bedside manners are great, pop." 

“Uh-huh. I know you’re sorry you hurt him, deep down in there, but you’re just as proud as your dad.” Clark tickled his side briefly, to make Dick shy away from him. “Explain to him why you did what you did, without making it about Damian. Make it about Tim. Explain that you still love him just as much, and that he'll always have your support. Apologize to him for dismissing him. Don’t do what B did with you, and manage to push Tim away. We seem to be dwindling in numbers, and I want you to have each other.”

“It’s what family is for,” Dick mumbled obediently.

Clark nodded, and pressed a quick smooch to his eldest temple, wrapping an arm around his side and squishing him closer. "It's what family is for."

\---

Bribing Alfred the Cat to go places with him was remarkably easier than bribing Damian to go places with him. Mainly, Clark used this knowledge only for good, like getting Damian to sit down with the rest of the family during a movie night. If he can coax Alfred into the room with them, Damian will come slipping in a few minutes after, and find the cat in Tim's lap, but Dick or Jason will drag him into a couch or the loveseat with them. If Clark plops Alfred the Cat in Damian's lap, he'll stay for at least a whole movie. 

Clark feels kind of like he's cracked the code on this parenting a reluctant child thing. 

Mostly, though, when he's not being poked and prodded at by his brothers, Damian is an introspective child. If left alone for too long, he'll sit, and he'll think himself in circles, or he'll practice his skills for hours in the gym. Alfred told him that Bruce had been a lot like that when he was a child as well, so it wasn't too strange. Clark is itching to find out what Damian is contemplating so hard though, especially since he knows that Bruce at that age had already decided to be Batman and was building up the courage to do just that. 

So Clark uses the cat trick. Really, how was he supposed to sit on such powerful information and not use it at least once to investigate Damian's state of mind? He coaxed Alfred the Cat into the library where he knew none of the other kids would be that early in the day, and waited. 

After a few minutes, as expected, Damian peeked through the doorway with narrowed eyes, likely on the hunt for cat snuggles with nobody watching. 

"Hey Dames," Clark said, petting Alfred the Cat's fluffy, sleek fur, where the kitten was resting against his thigh, his little paws kneading the muscle there. "Why don't you come sit with us?" 

Damian seemed to hesitate for a moment, but couldn't find a good reason not to. He came into the room, and sat down in one of the chairs. He made a little tsk noise to call Alfred the Cat's attention, but when that didn't work, he looked over at the bookshelves speculatively instead. Damian wasn't a huge fan of reading, at least not for pleasure. He was bad at doing anything just for the fun of it, something they were all trying to help him get better at. 

"I haven't seen you drawing anything recently. Are you having a bout of artblock?" Clark asked, keeping his tone light and teasing. Damian shrugged, drumming his fingers on the armrest in a scary reflection of his father as his eyes wandered over the bookcase closest to him. When he didn't seem to want to share anything more than that, Clark tried again. "Are you out of paper? Or pencils? Dick needed to get yarn anyway, he's going to Michaels tomorrow I think. You should join him."

Damian pursed his lips, glancing at Clark for a moment. "Not the right paper. American mass produced paper is... garbage."

"Is there a special kind that you use?"

"Yes. It's... Not as smooth nor as grainy as the ones sold in your stores," he said, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together, as if he was thinking of the texture of it.

"That seems very specific. Is it handmade?" 

"Yes. My mother purchased my materials from a specific woman in India, I believe," Damian said thoughtfully, watching as Alfred hopped out of Clark's lap onto the coffee table and padded over the wood towards his chair. Alfred the Cat meowed, _loudly_ , and Damian raised an eyebrow at him. "What, Alfred?"

Alfred the Cat meowed again, and Damian stretched his arm out towards him, getting his hand bumped up against. Carefully, he pulled the cat into his lap, scratching behind Alfred the Cat's ears. Yes, Damian was always very careful with his new companion. Tim watched Damian a lot more than he'd done before, especially when Alfred the Cat was close, even if Damian seemed to be deliberately ignoring Tim back. Clark hoped Tim was seeing how Damian was getting better, rather than just glaring at the boy. 

"Have you thought about what we discussed?" Clark asked gently, though he knew about Damian getting along better with Ace. He called her a good girl all the time now. She still wasn't his favorite, but Clark also didn't think anyone could compete with the awesomeness of Jason and Bruce, when it came to Ace's preferences. 

"Yes," Damian said, letting Alfred settle in his lap. Even him acknowledging that they'd talked was pretty nice to Clark. "And I have yet to see any actual benefits to me being... _nice_." 

A little disheartening to hear Damian say the word 'nice' like it was poison, but he also liked to be dramatic. No telling if that's Bruce or Talia's genetics shining through, honestly. Truly a toss-up on that one behavior of his. 

Clark pursed his lips. "Would you believe me if I said it was for your well-being?"

"No," Damian replied, side-eyeing him. 

Clark sighed. "Why not? Do you doubt that it's actually good for you, or that _I_ want you to do it because it'll be good for you?"

Damian just watched him with those dark eyes. Damian's eyes were a mix of green and blue, with speckles of gold that made them look dark, murky green in most lights. It was just another thing that separated him from his brothers, from his father. He had Talia's eyes. _Ra's_ ' eyes. "Both, I suppose."

Clark hummed. "Do you doubt my judgement that much?" Damian shrugged, an elegant dismissal. Clark wasn't done talking about this, though. "Okay. Let's put it this way, then: getting along with people is a better way to get your way than to be rude to people. All I really want, is for you to be able to get along with people, because I know that in the world, the real world, not here in the manor or in the League of Assassins, people won't act like you're superior."

"Not until I show them why," Damian said, a devilish smirk on his lips. 

Clark shook his head. "Not even then, Damian. The moment you're mean or rude to someone else, you open yourself up for them to act the same way towards you. If you go into the world expressing hostility the whole time, all you're going to be faced with is _more_ hostility. And that's the least of what I want for you. You've had enough of that, I think."

"You don't know what's best for me," Damian sneered, and Clark hummed. 

"I don't claim to know what's best for any of my kids. I just-" He pressed his lips together, and stopped himself. "Okay. Do you know where I come from, Damian?"

Damian's eyebrows furrowed at this non-sequitur, but he seemed thrown enough that he wasn't pissed off anymore. "Your mother lives in Kansas."

Clark smiled. "Yes. But before that." When Damian still looked confused, he nodded. "I was born on a planet called Krypton. It was a beautiful, technologically advanced planet far away from here, circling a red sun. When I was just a baby, the planet was destroyed. The only reason I'm here today, is because my parents put me in a pod, and sent me off to Earth, the only planet vaguely similar enough that they knew I'd survive the atmosphere." 

Damian now looked more resigned to listen to him, rather than confused, so Clark continued. "They also sent a technologically advanded structure that crashed in the Arctic when my pod landed in Kansas, containing as much of Krypton's intelligence they could squeeze in there. When I was younger, I named it the Fortress of Solitude. An AI of my biological father Jor-El resides in it, and once, many years ago, he gave me the best parenting advice I've ever heard, and that I try stick to, to this day. What he said was, 'show them their possibilities, but never choose their path for them. They must advance on their own, find their own way, make their own mistakes, conquer their fears and hatreds, and create their own history'." 

Clark tried to gauge Damian's reaction to this statement, but it seemed mostly neutral. Not angry at least, which seemed to be Damian's favorite reaction of all. "So?" he said, in that perfectly casual tone that pre-teens and teenagers everywhere had perfected. 

He's pretty immune to it, though. Clark has been Tim's parent for years. "That's all I want for you, for _all_ of my kids. For you to be able to make your own decisions, create your own history. But I still want to help you. Show you your possibilites. Being kind can make all the difference in the world, Damian."

"I'm not your kid," he said, with a wrinkled nose, like just the thought was repulsive. Clark tried to push down the sting of hurt that sliced through him at that. How do you make someone feel included in a family when all they do is tell you that's not what they want? How could he claim Damian when Damian didn't want to be claimed by _him_? 

He smiled weakly at the boy. "You're a Wayne now, Damian. We look after our own, no matter what. I'm sorry to hear you say you don't feel the same way as I do." 

Damian blinked, focusing his attention on Alfred the Cat. "Not a Wayne. I'm an al-Ghul," he said lowly. 

Clark hummed. "You can't be both?" At Damian's incredulous look, he backtracked. "Well, it's a bit hard to combine, I suppose. But I'm a firm believer that just because you decide to embrace something new, you didn't just leave the old behind. When I was raised as Clark instead of Kal, that didn't mean I was abandoning my Kryptonian heritage. I was just... shaping it into something else. I let my Kryptonian side, and the fact that the Earth's yellow sun grants me powers, make me into Superman. Something I could use to be a force of good. I believe that you can do the same thing, if you wanted to. Use what being an al-Ghul has taught you, and become a great Wayne."

The boy remained silent for a while, hopefully considering Clark's words. "You haven't been Superman for some time," Damian pointed out. 

Clark smiled, a little grim twist of his mouth. "Well, let's just say that this period of grief has made me feel very, very human."

Damian pursed his lips, but nodded once, sharply. He tilted his head. "Grayson has said that the identity he had before, Nightwing, was from Kryptonian mythology. That was from you?"

Clark nodded. "Yes. When Dick was little, I told Kryptonian legends as bedtime stories. I was learning a lot of that myself, at the time. He liked the story of Nightwing and Flamebird a lot, and decided that after Robin, he wanted to become Nightwing."

"And father was opposed to this?"

Clark snorted. "That's one way to put it. He was just pissed Dick wasn't doing what _he_ wanted him to do, which was go to college, get an economics degree, and take over WE."

Damian raised his eyebrows. "I was under the impression it was Drake who is the CEO of Wayne Enterprises."

"You'd be right. Dick and B almost stopped talking to each other when Dick became Nightwing. And he's been pretty adamant that he doesn't want anything to do with WE since then. Jason was too young when he disappeared from our lives for B to even hold out hope that he'd want to become part of a giant corporation, when he thinks all they do is hoard wealth and prosperity. Tim thinks it's fun, though. Or, as much fun as he's willing to have when strategizing."

"Grayson didn't want WE?" Damian asked, looking privately scandalized by this fact. "He's the oldest son. It's his right."

Clark shrugged. "He didn't want it. It took B a long time to accept it, but it wasn't his path. Not what was right for him. And Tim enjoys it. Why put WE in the hands of someone who doesn't want it just because he's the oldest?" Damian looked like this concept was sort of blowing his mind. Clark smiled. "You know how we've stated in the past that we don't particularly follow traditional family values? This is one of those times. If you wanted to, you could tell B to _suck it_ when he asks you if you want any part in Wayne Enterprises, and that wouldn't change anything for us. You'd still be welcome here, loved here."

Damian blinked. " _Why_?" 

"Because if that's not what you want, we're not going to force you to do that! We'll present you with the opportunity, but if that's not what you think is right for you, then you don't have to do it. You don't have to do _anything_ you don't want to, Damian."

"Unless I'm being punished," Damian added, his tone distracted and distant as he stared at Clark without seeing him. 

Clark chuckled. "Yes, unless you're being punished. Alfred's very proud of how you're polishing silver, by the way. He says you have quite the knack for it."

"Rust isn't that much harder to get rid of than blood," Damian mumbled. He shook his head, like he was trying to rattle something loose. "Why do you keep telling me these things? I don't _care_."

"Because I like you." Clark surprises them both by genuinely meaning it. Not that Clark _dislikes_ Damian, it's just- he's the one kid he can't share with Bruce, not really. Because Bruce isn't here, _wasn't_ there for Damian when he was still here with them. Because Damian will always be a little bit Talia's, a little bit Dick's, and never any part his, if Damian doesn't actually let him get close. "Because you're a great kid. You're smart, and you're funny, and you make people happy that you're here, even if you can't see it right now. I can tell you're going to be an amazing young man when you grow up. And I want to be there for you along the way, if you'll let me. And I think you care, just a little. Everybody wants to belong somewhere. I just want you to know that you're not as alone as you might think, and that you belong here, if that's what you want." 

That seemed to be a bit too much for Damian, who stared at Clark with big, surprisingly vulnerable eyes for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around Alfred the Cat, cleared his throat, and disappeared out the door. Clark sighed to himself, picking his book back up. He didn't even have Alfred the Cat to commiserate with now, but he swallowed down the hurt from the lack of response, and tried to focus on the words on the page again.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of you guessed right that this was Alfred the Cat's appearance, kudos to you! Hope you had a safe, chill new years! Thank you so much for supporting this story and kudosing and bookmarking and commenting, it pushes me to write faster and more thoroughly. I'm very pleased you guys are hanging around <3<3


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the emotions-train! We dig into Tim a little more today, now that Clark's in a better headspace to do so. Also family fluff!   
> Hope you enjoy! <3

It's the first long flight he's done in quite some time, but it feels right. Like it's for a good reason. After some discussions with Tim about it, Clark sent the weirdest email he's ever sent in his life, asking Talia who she bought Damian's art supplies from. The only reason they even have her email and don't have to contact her through an actual demon summoning ritual, or some smoke signals, is because Tim likes to tick Ra's al Ghul off, and he hacks the League's databases once in a while, to see if they've acquired any interesting information. 

After a second of hesitation, Clark also asked if Talia knew of Damian having any allergies. Because while Bruce would run a DNA-test four times, an allergy panel probably wasn't on his list at the time, and probably hadn't been explored after. Damian claimed he's not allergic to anything, but the way he said it, like he would never reveal a weakness, well... Clark has a gut-feeling. As a parent, he's learned to trust that gut-feeling.

He's not actually expecting Talia to answer, so he has Tim look where he might be able to find the paper as well, but by the next morning, he has an email containing only an address in Iran and the word 'pears' in bold. Frankly, Clark has never been this surprised in his life. Maybe Talia took Damian picking Bruce over her to heart. 

He hesitated, but sent back a picture of Damian and Alfred the kitten napping together on a couch. To say thanks? To encourage good behavior? He has no clue. All he knows is that if someone had his kids in a country on the other side of the world, he'd want to know they were safe. Cared for. He can't imagine that Talia doesn't love Damian, even if it's in its own, twisted kind of way.

There are flashes, sometimes, of what Damian's earlier childhood was probably like. He flinches minutely on occasion, when Alfred tuts, like he's bracing for a blow, and his eyes go blank when somebody raises their voice, purposefully. When Jason and Dick wrestle playfully, or bicker and Jason takes a swing at Dick, Damian gets tense, watching the two of them like a hawk to see if he has to interrupt. Clark can see his shoulders sink an inch when the two older boys break it up. He doesn't seem to understand physical contact as a way to prove you care, which _bothers_ Clark, because it proves it hasn't been a big part of his life.

At least Damian seems to be learning. Clark's love language has always been physical touch, which is why he doles it out so much to his kids, and if Damian backs away when he raises a hand to pet his back, how is he supposed to prove that? Jason only accepts affection when it's under the guise of violence, which is why Dick and he wrestle a lot. Tim has trouble with physical contact, but it's because he's _starving_ for it, always has been. Clark is pretty sure that all sort of affection Tim might've recieved from his biological parents tapered off after his mom died, which is why it's always such a relief to be able to give that to him now. 

He reflected on that as he squeezed the back of Tim's neck in thanks for the help with his email, thought of ruffling Jason's hair, of pressing kisses to Dick's childhood-chubby cheeks. Gestures that had always been important to show that he cared for them. Clark wondered what sort of expression of affection Damian would accept from him, if he ever would.

Another way to show you loved someone was through thoughtful gifts. Clark supposed this was as good of a place to start as any. He took his farewell of Tim and slipped into his suit.   
Before he did anything else however, Clark flew up to the sun, feeling his his powers strengthening the closer he got. His blood surged under his skin after so long without direct exposure to Sol, throbbing and making his body ache and tingle, and he closed his eyes and took a real, deep breath for the first time in months. He stayed there, just hovering and staring straight into the glare of the sun for so long he almost forgot himself. From what his kids had told him, he knew that he'd been gone for some time, in the beginning. Maybe he'd just drifted here, pulled along by the forces that were pulling at him even now, as he watched the sun's surface move. 

All in all, the whole transaction was quick and painless after his sunlight boost, and he was back at the manor in a little over two hours, placing the stack of papers on Damian's bedside table and taking a quick shower. The suit went back into the drawer Alfred hid it in. Clark rubbed the fabric between his thumb and middle finger, tracing the outline of his family crest with his eyes. The thought of putting it back on wasn't quite as scary now as it had been before. 

Still, Clark closed the drawer and listened to the manor as he began his stroll towards the kitchen for a snack. The sound of his favorite heartbeats in the world made him take a little detour into the library, and he peeked inside to find the four boys and two pets sitting gathered around the coffee table, in their sweats, looking relaxed and rumpled. The lot of them had probably only been awake for a few hours at this point. 

Dick was sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, with Damian perched on the couch next to his shoulder and cradling Alfred the Cat with his free hand. Jason was slouched on the ornate chair to Dick's left, leaning his elbows on his knees with Ace planted on her butt between his legs, and with Tim on the opposite side of the coffee table in the matching chair. All of them were holding a handful of cards, and the rest of the cards were tossed upside down on the coffee table in a messy pile.

"Hi kids. What are you up to?" Clark asked, stepping into the room with a smile on his face. Dick waved, shielding his cards from Damian's view as he did so. Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes at his older brother's theatrics.

"Playing cards," Tim said, looking up at him and raising an eyebrow. Clark nodded at him, and Tim nodded back, before turning his attention to his cards again.

"Uh huh. Is that such a good idea?" Clark asked tentatively, leaning against the back of Jason's chair. Ace bumped her snout against his hand, and he gave her a firm pet, recieving a lick on the hand for his troubles. Jason turned his head when Ace redirected his attention, squinting at his pop suspiciously.

"Are you trying to imply something, pop?" Tim questioned, now with a sassy eyebrow raised. 

Clark put his hands in the air. "Why would I be doing that? It's not like you're all very competitive, pushy, agressive people. It's not like we banned game-night for a reason or anything."

"Yeah, well, we decided we'd given you too easy of a time recently, so we're determined to start the next world war," Dick said with a teasing grin. "Thus, we set this plan in motion today by raising the ban on game-nights. Alfred wouldn't mind a few broken antique tables, would he?" 

Clark snorted. "Oh, of course he wouldn't. Try to keep the blood off anything that can't be thrown in the washing machine, is all that I ask for." 

"You got it," Tim agreed. "Damian, have any fours?"

"No," Damian said, looking like a movie-villain when he petted Alfred the Cat's silky fur, with a devious sort of glint in his eyes. 

"You're looking particularly radiant, pop," Jason said in a mocking tone, only to bug him, and Clark pressed a loud smooch to his head to annoy him in return. 

"Why thank you, Jason. So do you," Clark said, enjoying his son's very familiar 'you're kooky' look as Jason ruffled his own hair. "Whatcha playing?"

"Go Fish," Dick relayed with a smile. His eyes tracked over Clark's form too, once Jason had made the 'radiant' remark. His smile became a little wider. "Thought we'd teach Damian the basics, since he only knows poker, and we're-"

"Not allowed to play poker," Clark interrupted, shaking his head as he recalled his kids' antics. "Yes, I do recall very vividly why we have that rule."

"It's a stupid rule," Jason grumbled. "Arrange one little gambling ring in the Justice League juniors and suddenly we're banned from playing poker for li-"

"For life!" Clark agreed, cutting Jason off as well. "Yes, for life. No poker. Stick to Go Fish. You can teach Damian how to play Snap, though I fear for all our lives just saying that. I'll stretch to Blackout and Gin Rummy, but if you teach him to cheat, I will be pulling your patrol privileges _so_ fast." 

"Faster than a speeding bullet?" Tim suggested, making Jason and Dick snicker. Clark grinned at his kids' happy faces, and nodded, with aplomb. 

"You betcha. You know Alfred set the Monopoly board on fire after the last time you played, right? As in, took it outside, threw it in the fire pit, and lit it on fire like he was trying to cover up a crime. He stood there until the whole thing was gone," he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Babs is too competitive," Tim said off-handedly. "And Bruce should be happy I won, I run his company." Dick snorted, and Tim pouted. "What? I'm not a bad winner." 

"Yeah, it's not like the three of you got into such a heated economics debate you had to leave for five minutes to cool off or anything," Dick said under his breath. 

"You're just a bad loser too, Dickiebird," Jason teased. "For future reference, Dames, the whole point of the game is to say 'go fish' when you don't have cards. For example, Timmy, do you have any queens?"

Tim's eyes narrowed, but he pulled two queens from his hand. "Fuck you, Jason."

Jason tsked. "Ouch! Spirit of the game, Timmy my boy, come on. Dickiebird, hand over your sevens."

"I'd say that's perfectly in the spirit of the game. Go fish, Jase," Dick grinned. 

"Be nice," Clark warned. "I'm going downstairs to grab some tea, you guys want some snacks?"

"Alfred's fixing that whether we want it or no," Tim said.

"Indeed, Master Timothy," came Alfred's reprimanding tone from the doorway, where he appeared with a tray of snacks, both fruits and some popcorn, four glasses filled with lemonade spread over the tray to distribute the weight of it evenly. "And you will be eating them, either without supervision or with, but they _will_ be eaten, young masters."

"Thanks Al," Jason said, as he helped set the tray down on the coffee table. Clark helped distribute the bowls and the pretzel packs and the glasses, and then sat down behind Dick on the couch, peeking at his cards. "No cheating, pop."

"I would never," Clark said haughtily, and eyed their butler, who watched with a tiny twitch of the corner of his lips as the kids began plucking snacks from the bowls. "Would you care to sit, Alfred?"

Alfred didn't even have the time to protest before the kids began pestering him to sit down as well, trying to out-shout each other in their adamant request. Alfred shot Clark a disproving look, but sat down primly in the chair that Jason vacated to sit on the floor with his back to the door, much to Ace's delight. 

The next game they taught Damian was Blackout, although Dick and Tim argued about the rules a bit, and this time Clark and Alfred were persuaded to join the game. Which was probably not a great thing, seeing as Alfred always kicked everyone's butt at cards, no matter what game it was. 

When Alfred finally put his cards down to go prepare dinner, all the kids seemed a little disheartened at having lost so brutally to the old man, and Clark had to hide his smirk behind a cough. 

"Do we burn the deck of cards next, or...." Jason asked, his mouth twisted into a surly frown. The look on Damian's face promised injuries if someone were to tease him now, but the other kids were too focused on their own pouting to notice. 

"Everyone for, say aye," Tim muttered. 

"Aye," Dick grumbled, and Clark finally let loose his own chuckle, making all the kids turn their heads to glare at him. 

"I'm sorry, this is just... exactly why game-night was banned in the first place. You're all sore losers and you know it. Hand over the deck and nobody gets hurt," Clark smiled, shaking his head. Jason smacked the deck into his hand with unnecessary force, and Clark pressed his lips together so as to not laugh out loud again. "Alright, you little bummers. Want to start a movie before dinner? Jason, you can have your pick."

"I wanna watch Scary Movie 2," Jason pouted. 

"Okay, maybe another movie that isn't so inappropriate," Clark suggested, with a pointed glance at their little audience. 

"It's not that bad," Jason protested. "Just jokes. Not even anything, y'know, graphic." 

"It's rated R," Tim said, his phone already in hand with proof. "Besides, it's a crappy movie."

"It is not crap! It's peak bullshit cinema from the early 2000's," Jason argued.

"I know what sex is, if that's the inappropriate things you were discussing," Damian said, furrowing his eyebrows at his brothers' antics. "No need to be so juvenile about it."

Jason sputtered, and Dick's eyes widened. Tim actually let out a startled little snort of a laugh, and Clark raised his eyes to their ceiling, praying to Rao for patience and perhaps some tranquility. He should know better though, with this bunch. 

"Jason!" Dick yelled, scrambling after Jason on the floor, who was set into motion by the angry screech. 

"Why are you yelling at me?! It wasn't _me_ who told the brat," Jason hurried to say, trying to get away from Dick's angry smacking hands. Ace tried to help, butting her head against Dick's ribcage and making him topple over on the carpet with a grunt, just fast enough that Jason could crawl behind the couch. Clark pressed a gentle foot to Dick's ribcage, effectively pinning him where he was. 

"Relax," Clark commanded, and Dick wrapped his hands around Clark's ankle with a panicky look in his eyes. "We're not watching Scary Movie 2. Or any of them, for that matter. We're watching something PG-13 at most."

"I don't care if we watch something with sex," Damian pointed out, and both Dick and Jason made garbled noises of protest and incredulity. Jason attempted to cover Damian's ears, as if he could be protected from his own words somehow, but was swatted away by the annoyed boy. 

"How about Pacific Rim?" Tim suggested. "It's not stupid action, but also not brain-dead fart comedy."

"Sounds good to me," Jason said, where he was leaning over the back of the couch now, his chin resting on his crossed arms. "I mean, my pick was better, but I can suffer through Pacific Rim."

"Shut up, you love giant robots, Little Wing," Dick protested from where he was still pinned to the floor. 

"Theoretically speaking, yes. Fighting them is the _worst_ ," Jason mused. 

"Yeah," Tim agreed, standing from his chair to pop his back. "What sitting room?"

"Blue," Dick said, just as Jason said "Green." That sparked a whole 'nother debate, which lasted until Clark managed to steer them to the red sitting room, which had a slightly smaller TV than both the blue and green, but had more couches and plush pillows everywhere. 

The next morning, Damian cleared his throat deliberately, like he wanted Clark to look at him, so Clark looked up from his own tablet, and saw Damian drawing his mug on his new paper. Clark smiled at him, and they locked eyes for a moment, and Damian blinked, slowly. They just stared in silence at each other for a while, before Damian turned back to his art, and Clark to his tablet, feeling warmth fill his chest like the inside of a hot air balloon. 

\---

They've hit a few snags in the plan of getting Bruce back. In pretty much any other situation, Clark wouldn't worry. Plans aren't always flawless and smooth, and part of being a superhero is being good at adapting to something new on the fly. It's what Bruce has been drilling into his Robins from their first day of training. Of course, this is the biggest mission of Clark's life, but he trusts his friends, trusts Tim. They've come this far, and they will not let anything stop them now that they're working towards getting Bruce back. 

But he also realizes Tim's about to snap. 

Look, Clark knows his kids pretty well. Anxiousness and paranoia have always run rampant in their household, because for all that Clark loves Bruce, he also knows that he's a bit of a lunatic with enough trust issues to fascinate a whole building of therapists. Sadly, trust issues, anxiety, and paranoia are great friends and tend to arrive hand in hand. Tim had it worst out of all their kids, with Jason a close second. But because he's always been a bit like that, Clark can see that Tim's hanging on by a thread, twitchy hands and flickering eyes. While hitting a snag may be bad news for anyone else, a snag for Tim right now is the difference between being able to bring a loved one back or not. It's life or death. 

Clark watched him accept the news from J'onn calmly, nod and restrategize out loud. Never let it be said Bruce didn't teach their kids to compartmentalize. He says goodnight, that he's heading out for patrol, on autopilot. The cracks in his facade are widening by the minute, but Clark lets him go, to find whatever safe space he's looking for. Now that Clark feels a little more comfortable flying, he follows from behind the clouds, watching the RR-bike skid around corners of buildings. Wherever it is, Tim knows where he's going. Though he could drive safer, he's obviously on a plotted course. 

Once Tim had been in the same place, deep underneath a building, for more than a few minutes, Clark swooped down. He'd used pretty much the same programming in his little nest as the kind that's in the cave, an understandable oversight, and the cave systems have Clark registered as a frequent user, even though he can tell Dick is on the no-entrance list, still. Clark flew right through the door, and into something from his worst nightmares. 

It looked a lot like the lab they took Kon from, all those years ago. Just the one pod-tube in here, but the same flickering lighting, the same goop in buckets and the huge computer banks. Tim was leaning against a lab-bench, his black gloves straining where they wrapped around the edge of the bench, with his head hanging. In the strange, flickering light, they looked like claws, and the force with which he was grasping the metal made the leather creak. His head snapped up when Clark dropped down on the concrete floor, gaping at the equipment, at the _implications_. 

"Clark!" Tim gasped. Not unlike looking at a stranger, Clark felt for a moment as if he was watching from outside his body, gazing at Tim, who looked guilty, _so damn_ guilty. 

"Tim... What is this?" he asked in a shaky voice, but he had a pretty dang good guess. 

"I- It's not what it looks like," Tim said, but the cracks were too visible. He was surprised, hadn't kept his guard up. He tried to make a face that wasn't astonishment and fear, but he was pale as a sheet, looked like he was going to vomit any second. Whatever placating look he managed to dredge up slipped off his face in mere seconds, his jaw slack and eyes wide. 

"I think it is," Clark said slowly. Tim blinked, slow, like he was watching a train crash in slow motion without being able to do a thing. That stopped Clark in his tracks. For all that he was shook, Clark put his own feelings on the matter of _cloning_ to the wayside, taking a deep breath to focus on Tim. "Have you managed to..."

Tim shook his head, swallowing. "No, I can't- I haven't-" He closed his mouth again, pressing his trembling lips together as if he was staving off bile, trying to control his terror and his stomach. 

"I'm not mad at you," Clark said, and he wasn't lying. Not really. Was he a little baffled, horrified that Tim had been shook all the way down to his core morals? Yes. He could also acknowledge that Tim had lost pretty much everything he had in the past year. If anyone was allowed to go off the rails, it was Tim, who was always trying his absolute best for others, who had had no support, had been called crazy when he'd only been right.

Tim looked around the room in horror. "Clark, I- I'm s-sorry," he gasped. 

"Tim, honey," Clark said, hurrying forward to cradle Tim's ragged face in his hands. "That's enough. Cloning him isn't going to get you Conner back. You know that. That's not going to be Conner, whatever it is you're making. Let's end this right here and now."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Tim repeated weakly, tucking his shaking hands into his armpits as his knees buckled. Clark recognized his agonized breathing, his rabbiting heartbeat as Tim having a _panic attack_ , and he sank with him to the floor in alarm.

"Hey, listen to me. Breathe with me. I need you to breathe with me, kiddo. Tim. Please?" Clark said, taking Tim's shaking hand and pressing it to his own heart. "Deep breaths with me. Listen to my heart. We're going to take deep, calm breaths. Like a square. C'mon. In... And out."

He rubbed at Tim's sides, saw the goose-bumps rise and his hands clench as Tim's fingers pressed with such force into his ribcage that Clark was surprised he didn't manage to break his ribs. He continued to talk Tim through the panic attack until Tim's heartbeat stopped being so erratic, and he opened his arms to his son. Tim took a nose-dive into his shoulder, so Clark carefully positioned him so that his back was against Clark's chest. That way, he could still breathe but Clark could cradle his baby like the freaked out parent he was. 

"Hey," Clark murmured, nudging Tim's head. "You with me, Tim?"

He swallowed hard. "Yeah," he croaked out, and Clark breathed a sigh of relief. 

"That's good. That's great, Tim. So... Wanna tell me how long that's been going on?" Clark murmured, because Tim doesn't seem surprised, is staring up at the ceiling with his head on Clark's shoulder and catching his breath like he's counting the seconds until he's back up to par.

"I don't really remember," Tim mumbled back, but he was _lying_ , Clark could tell. This was also something Tim, and all their other kids, had picked up from Bruce that would probably drive Clark insane some day: downplaying their hurts. He felt like he was constantly surrounded by those stupid knights from the Monty Python movie they'd watched their latest movie night, four kids and a partner going _'tis but a scratch_ while he agonized over their gaping wounds in the background. 

Tim moved to get up but Clark pulled on the arm he had curled around Tim's torso like a seatbelt and pulled him back on his butt, frowning fiercely. "Oh no, mister, you're going to sit right here and you're gonna tell me the truth! This isn't a one-time occurrence?"

"Well..." Tim said, his voice high and reedy like it hasn't been for years. "It's happened a few times. Since... since my dad died. It kept... getting worse. Everytime someone else disappeared." 

"Oh, Tim. I'm so sorry, honey. Why didn't you _tell_ anyone?" Clark asked mournfully, squeezing Tim again. Tim's light fingertips patted Clark's arm, trying to be reassuring. Out of all of the kids, Tim was the least physical out of them. Didn't know how to ask for it, didn't know how to provide it. He'd gotten better when he'd started hanging out with Bart and Kon and the rest of Young Justice, because they were always rough-housing, but Clark couldn't remember the last time Tim had seen the remaining members of his team, or disappeared to hang out with them. Clark tried to pull him closer and found that they were already as close together as they could be without Clark wrapping his arms another lap around him. 

"I don't know," Tim mumbled. "I didn't think- I didn't want to put that on anyone else."

"Sweetheart, that's literally what I'm here for," Clark said gently, leaning his cheek to Tim's sweaty temple. "What B was here for. What Alfred is here for, and your brothers. Your family wants you to be safe and sound, and for you to know that. Because you _are_ family, Tim, no matter what you try to tell yourself. You always have been, and you always will be. I'm so sorry you lost Kon, and Stephanie, and your dad and B so close together. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you when you needed me. I'm sorry you didn't feel you could go to anybody with this, that we couldn't help you when that's what family is for. I know you feel the need to do everything by yourself, but you don't have to, Tim. We _love_ you and we want you to stay with us for a long time. And therefore I now beg you to _please_ tell someone when you're having a panic attack." 

Tim let out a shuddery breath, a silent tear running down the side of his face. "I know, Clark."

"But _do_ you? Just because you wouldn't talk to Dick didn't mean you couldn't tell Alfred. Or me, when I got my head screwed back on right. Why couldn't you come and tell us?" Clark brushed Tim's hair back from his forehead, noticing his furrowed brow as he squeezed his eyes shut, like he was trying not to let any more tears escape.

"I don't know," Tim said hoarsely. From his hunched posture, like he was still waiting for the next blow to come, Clark didn't think he was ready to say anything other than that. Looking around the lab though, around the nest really, Clark could see the forethought, the planning that had gone into building himself a safe space here. Maybe Tim wasn't ready to talk, but he would be ready to listen, just a little bit.

"You wanna know what I think?" Clark asked. Tim shrugged, which Clark took as encouragement to continue. He took a deep breath, bracing himself. "I think you felt a bit lost. Lonely. And that's okay. It's been a rough year. I think Dick didn't listen to you and that made you mad, and being mad at him was easier than admitting that he hurt you when he decided Damian's needs were greater than yours. I think, spending all your energy on finding B, and trying to get Kon back was what kept you from doing things you'd regret." 

Tim clenched his hands in his lap, and Clark thought this was a pretty good position to make these sorts of accusations. He could see Tim's reaction without Tim having to see him, which always seemed to help his more repressed bats. The first time Bruce had told him he loved him was in their dark bedroom, his back pressed to Clark's chest. 

Clark continued, his voice soft but clear. "And when you realized things had spiraled out of control, you felt scared to ask any of us for help because you thought we'd never forgive you, and you thought you could still handle it on your own, without any of our help. But it just kept getting worse and worse, and then it had gotten so big, had turned into such a huge deal, that you didn't even know where to start telling any of us what was going on with you. Because you're still scared you're going to lose us. Even if you're still mad at Dick, you hate Damian, Jason's a jerk, and I'm a poor excuse for a pop, you still don't want to lose anyone else. So you just kept going, convinced that if you just got B back, if you just did this, if you just did that, everything would be okay again." Tim fidgeted a little, biting at his already chapped lips. "Am I in the right ballpark, here?"

Tim sighed, but it was a trembling kind of sigh, like he didn't know if he'd even manage to get all that air out of his lungs. "I- I guess. Yeah."

Clark nodded to himself, suppressing the lump in his throat that had appeared at Tim's tentative answer. "Okay. Then I want you to know that we're all here for you, no matter what. If you're worried what we're going to say, I'd advise you to go to Jason. He'll give you assurance no matter the skeletons in your closet. I'm sure he'd help you bury a body, quite literally. Which I'm actually a little horrified to say."

Tim snorted, half-laughter and half-tears. He wiped at his face with trembling hands. "Jason's actually already given his two cents and said I had the 'mother of all abandonment issues'."

"He'd be right," Clark agreed softly. "That's not your fault, though. It's a lot of things, one being losing a lot of people before your brain's even finished developing. Another being the fact that you don't like it when people get close to you and wanna talk about their feelings. I know that's one of the really good reasons why you and B liked each other so much, because you could say a billion things to each other without having to open your mouths. I'd love to be in your head like that, too, but for that you've gotta let people in just a little more, Tim."

"I don't think _I_ want to be in my head right now," he admitted quietly. 

Clark considered how to answer that, its meaning too close for comfort, too close to how he'd felt in the beginning. He wondered who, out of the two of them, were handling their grief better, really. "Okay. Then we both get out of there for the evening. Let's go home. I think you're done for the night."

"No, I should-"

"No buts, Tim," Clark said, a little sternly. It was always a balance, with Tim, how much authority he could take. Nobody paying attention to him as a little boy had meant any attention was good attention for a while, and sometimes he liked to hear that someone saw what he was doing, be it stupid or good. Luckily, Bruce and Clark had been used to parenting Jason at that point. The little rebellious spark in him, that stubbornness, had made him an amazing Robin, but it could also rear its head at inopportune moments. Clark didn't want this to be one of those times. 

He made himself unwind his arms from around Tim, and helped the boy to his feet. "Okay. I have to-" Tim made a vague hand motion at the computer, and Clark nodded, internally breathing a sigh of relief.

"Alright. Be quick. We're going home, and then we're showering, and then you're going to bed," Clark said. 

Tim snorted. "I don't have a bedtime anymore, pop," he muttered, striding over to the computer on shaky legs. 

"I know," he agreed, watching Tim's tense shoulders as he shut down the computer, slid closed the hood on the lab bench. He turned to face Clark, looking as ready to go as Clark would expect him to be, when Tim stopped, his eyes glued to the glass structure that stood next to the lab bench. Clark didn't like that look in his eyes one bit. 

"I haven't actually... I haven't managed to clone him. It was just... I had all the research," he said, pressing his fingertips to the pod. "From the Cadmus notes. I had the resources. I was going out of my mind with grief, and Ra's gave me this stupid pod. _An incentive,_ he called it. And I thought, if I could just- just have _Kon_ back. Just him." He thunked his forehead against the glass, squeezing his eyes shut hard, and Clark wrapped a firm hand around Tim's neck, rubbing a thumb where his hair met his neck. 

"I know how it feels to be that desperate for someone, Tim. But it wouldn't be Kon. Whatever clone you managed to make wouldn't be him. And you know how he hated Cadmus for what they did to him," he said mildly.

"I _know_ ," Tim snarled, shaking Clark's hand off. "I know. I couldn't- I just had to try. There was nothing left for me otherwise." Tim's eyes still shone with guilt, though. There was something about the way he looked at the pod. Yearning, almost. Clark pursed his lips thoughtfully. 

"You know, Kon-"

"I know Kon would've hated it. I _know_ ," Tim snapped, his jaw clenching. He kept staring at the pod, but his eyes were empty, like he wasn't seeing what was in front of him. 

Clark considered his words. "Yeah. But I think, with some time, that he'd understand. Desperate people do desperate things. That doesn't mean they're inherently bad. Just desperate. You're a good person, Tim. If you weren't, then this wouldn't make you feel as bad as it does. If you were a bad person, you wouldn't feel remorse."

"I don't know if I do," Tim murmured, but Clark had heard enough. Everything always seemed to bleak during the night, and Clark had had _enough_ of letting his kids brood on their own. Not even Bruce was afforded that privilege for too long. 

Clark wrapped a hand around Tim's wrist, squeezing gently and tugging him towards the door. "C'mon. Let's go home."

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep sitting down to write and accidentally adding like a billion more words. Like, this is going to reach order of the phoenix length. I just know it. So if that's not what you're here for... lmao whoopsies.   
> Also! I'm aware I keep changing tenses. No, I don't know how to stop myself. Yes, I'm going to keep it that way. Whatever my muses demand of me, I acquiesce to so they don't leave me for another year.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XL chapter today, because, well... you'll see ;)  
> Enjoy! <3

Tim hasn't slept in their bed much ever, but Dick was a frequent visitor as a kid, and Jason too on occasion, though it was rarer. Clark was a firm believer that proper sleep could cure a lot of ails, especially with someone like Tim, who was very good at being awake for too long without realizing the reprecussions. He didn't think it'd cure Tim of whatever grief monster he was being swallowed by, but it might help for the night, at least. A temporary reprieve. 

Tim looked small and exhausted, spread over the sheets. Clark wrapped him up in a little cocoon of blankets, because he knows Tim doesn't move a lot in his sleep, at least in comparison to Dick and Jay. He's very much like Bruce in that way, very still once you get him to stop. Tim's most like Bruce of all their kids, probably. Or... honestly, with the way Clark's been thinking lately, it's entirely possible he's just looking for Bruce everywhere he looks, including in their kids. 

"You good? Want something to drink? Or eat?" Clark asked, smoothing Tim's hair away from his face. He was still not entirely there, as evidenced by his blank blue eyes. 

When Clark squeezed his neck to get his attention, he blinked fast, a few times, as if he was zoning back in. "No. I- this is stupid," Tim muttered, wiggling in the blankets like he was trying to get out. 

Clark shook his head. "It's _not_ stupid, Tim," he said, gently but firmly, pressing a hand to his chest to still the young man. "You need to _sleep_. I bet you could spout statistics about how people who don't sleep enough lose five years off their life span for every night they miss, or something. Or is that one of those convenient facts you don't know anything about?"

Tim grumbled, but let Clark swaddle him up a little tighter in his burrito. "I doubt it's five whole years."

"No? I think it's something like that," Clark teased. 

Tim huffed. "Cite your sources."

"My brain is the source. I have an insomniac partner and more than one insomniac kid," Clark declared, making Tim snort. "I speak from experience."

"How would you even know the five years thing, then?" Tim's little smile dimmed. "Well. I guess it almost turned out to be true with Bruce, at least." 

Clark sighed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get us down." Tim shrugged, making the blankets shift higher.

Now that he was all wrapped up and in the gloomy lighting of one bedside lamp, the dark circles and the lines around Tim's eyes were more visible than ever. He looked tired to the bone, but his eyes were still wide open. Clark could almost see the calculations whirring behind there, could tell that Tim was far from restful. After only a moment of hesitation, Clark crawled in after him, pulling his own covers to his chin and turning on his side so he was facing Tim. 

"What're you doing?" Tim asked supiciously. 

"What's it look like? I'm going to bed," Clark said. "Not all of us are creatures of the night, y'know."

"You don't have to-"

"You know how earlier we talked about what I'm here for?" Tim gave a reluctant nod. Clark leaned up on his elbow, reaching over Tim to turn the light out, and pressing a goodnight kiss on his forehead. "This is one of those things."

"I'm not a child, Clark."

"So? You're still _my_ child. Who gives a damn how old you are?" Clark said, probably a little too sharply, going on Tim's wider eyes. Still, he was getting kind of annoyed that his kids didn't want him calling them his kids. They _are_ his kids. "If it makes you feel any better, Dick slept in our bed so much when he was little that he had his own pillow and blanket here. Jason had nightmares a lot as a kid and could only go back to sleep if he could see Bruce was okay, so he ended up sleeping in our bed two whole weeks in a row, once."

"Really?" Tim said, sounding surprised. Clark sighed, shifting a little to get more comfortable. 

"Yes, Tim. There's nothing wrong with you sleeping here. Humans need other humans to feel safe and connected sometimes, and dads are good body pillows. I can't tell you the amount of times I woke up from Dick doing an entire one-eighty during the night and kicking his little foot in my face, or Jason fiddling with the hem of my t-shirt and accidentally tickling me. It's _fine_."

Tim shuddered. "Don't ever say you and body pillows in the same sentence again. People _really_ like Superman, pops." 

Clark huffed, rubbing his cheek against his pillow and watching Tim's flickering eyes in the darkness. "The point I was trying to make was, if you need to sleep here with me to get to sleep at all, that's okay."

Tim was silent for some time, considering that. "I don't... sleep very well," he finally pointed out. 

"I'm sure you don't. Keep in mind I've shared a bed, this one in particular actually, with Batman. For several years. I'm very conveniently trained for this exact situation."

Tim snorted, but added softly: "I have nightmares, sometimes."

He stretched a hand out again, smoothing his hand over Tim's head and stroking a thoughtful thumb over his eyebrows, making his exhausted eyelids flutter. "How often?"

"I dunno. Sometimes. Why?"

Clark hesitated, but kept stroking Tim's eyebrow softly, enjoying the rasp of the hair under his thumb and how it seemed to soothe the boy. "You're going to talk to Dinah, after this," he murmured, and Tim tensed all over. "I know with our line of work it's sort of expected to have both nightmares and panic attacks, but it's never something you should just shrug off. I get if you don't want to, but-" Clark couldn't muster a good threat that would actually entice Tim to go. "I think you need it, sometimes. All of you."

"I'm not crazy," Tim snapped, his eyebrows furrowing under Clark's thumb, again starting to wiggle under the blankets. "I'm _not_."

"I know, I know Tim," Clark said softly, trying to soothe. "That's not what I'm saying. It's just- you've suffered so many losses these past few years. It's only natural that your body and mind is reacting to that. All I'm saying is, you're allowed to grieve. You're allowed to take time, sit down and talk about it. You can only shove down so much in it before your box of grief breaks, and all you can do is cry and lay in bed like a vegetable. I don't want it to get that far before you get some help. Okay? That's all."

That explanation made him stop struggling like he was trying to get away, at least. Clark felt the bitter taste of regret in his mouth as he considered his own stint of being a vegetable in this very bed. He supposed Alfred had been right, that he'd needed that time to come back to his own head, but it still felt like a form of betrayal to him, probably felt exactly like that for their kids. 

"Did you cry about Kon?" Tim asked finally on a seemingly unrelated note, his eyes feverishly bright in the dark room. The bats did a lot of mental gymnastics, sometimes, and he had a hard time keeping up with where everything came from. He'd learned it was best to just abandon your latest topic and begin on the new one. 

"God yeah," Clark mumbled "I think I've cried myself out at this point, though. It's such a strange thing, grief."

Tim nibbled on his lip. "I didn't." 

Clark grabbed the back of Tim's neck, making the boy meet his eyes. " _Tim_. You don't have to cry for your grief to be real. Trying to bring someone back alive is pretty indicative of grief, no matter the circumstances. You can run out of tears. You can be numb. Hell, I don't think B felt a thing the first months after we lost Jase-"

"You don't say his name anymore," Tim pointed out, interrupting him. "Is that your grief?"

Clark froze. Blinked. Finally, he managed to swallow the lump in his throat. "I- I guess so. Whenever I try, it's like it... gets stuck in the back of my mouth." 

Tim closed his eyes tight. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm sorry for asking." 

"Don't be. You can ask me anything, Tim. Always." 

They were silent for a while, just breathing together. Clark listened to Tim's heart slow down a little, to a more managable, even rhythm. It was soothing, almost like a lullaby to Clark's frazzled brain. Tim's eyes had even started to close, when his pulse spiked, and he sat up straight, jostling Clark's arm right off of him. 

"Clark, why aren't you in Bruce's will?" he blurted out, and Clark, who was half-asleep at this time, groaned. 

"What?" he mumbled, using a nudge of super-strength to get Tim back on the mattress. "Why'd your heart go crazy all of a sudden, sweetheart?" 

"It's been bothering me. Why aren't you in his will?" Tim graciously allowed Clark to use one arm and a leg to pin him down in the bed, since that was seemingly what it was going to take. 

Then what Tim was asking sank in. Clark squeezed his eyes shut tightly, taking a moment to breathe, and suddenly aching for the smell of Bruce in the sheets again. "Because the Wayne Enterprises board of directors didn't want their CEO to marry a man. Sadly, it's as simple as that."

"He's not the CEO anymore. And it's legal. You could spin it, make it about Bruce being out and supporting LGBTQ people. It's not like you're _not_ out."

"When it was brought up the moment the board figured out we were dating, it was a rock-solid no. I think they held out hope that he'd go back to his womanizing ways from when he was younger. And then when we kept amassing kids, and I think they stopped hoping. But I think they shot him down when he asked just a few years ago. Before Jason came back, at least." 

He could practically hear Tim's brain booting up, all systems go, a problem he could fix, right in front of him here and now. "I could call a meeting. Andersson would roll in a heartbeat if I put a bit of pressure on him, and if I slip in one little hint about his mistress, Barrett will crumple like a wet tissue. Actually, I could- I could do this now. Let me call my secretary," Tim said, struggling against Clark to grab his phone, like the little fool he was. 

"Jenny is sleeping, if she's not also a vigilante or possibly a criminal. Maybe we can plan crushing the board of directors tomorrow?" Clark remarked mildly, not letting him slip an inch. "Let's focus on getting him back first, hm?"

Tim blinked, freezing. "I can't believe I didn't- wow."

Clark chuckled, a soft sound. "Yeah. You're _tired_ , Tim. Why do you always have to fight me on this like you're two years old and ready to throw a tantrum about taking a nap?"

That seemed to silence Tim, and Clark tried stroking one of his eyebrows again, since that had seemed to work a bit earlier. "I guess I don't know when to stop," Tim finally spoke, his voice quiet and vulnerable. 

Now that was an expected realization. Bruce used to have that one a lot, when he and Dick were fighting when he was younger. It was easy to become a dog with a bone, angry and striding on just because people told you you shouldn't. With both Bruce and Tim's steam-roller ways, it was a miracle they got as much done as they did. 

"No, you don't," Clark agreed. "It's okay. Sometimes, it's good to soldier on, but that means you might have to trust others to tell you when to stop, take a break, sleep."

"You did that for Bruce," Tim said, his eyes closed again now. His heartbeat was coming back down again, thankfully. 

"Only because he trusted me to. And even then, sometimes he'd get lost in a case and we'd argue about me thinking I know what's best for him when he knows his own body so well, is trained for it." 

Tim snorted. "Yeah, I can imagine his reaction if it was anybody but you or Alfred telling him that. And even then...."

Clark smiled. "Mm. He's a very particular man, that one."

"And you still love him?" Tim asked, but there was a tremulous quality to his voice now, one that hadn't been there before. 

Clark pressed a kiss to Tim's forehead again, staying curled up around Tim's tangled up little head long enough to feel his calloused fingers wiggling up through the blankets and touching the inside of Clark's wrist with the gentlest of pressures against his invulnerable skin. "Without a doubt. Never a question in my mind. Same with you and your brothers. Now will you please try to sleep? If not for you, then for me?"

Tim sighed, a soft exhale as Clark uncurled himself, still using his arm and leg to pin the young man in place. "Okay," he said, his voice small and soft.

"Thank you. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise." Tim nodded, and finally closed his eyes, letting Clark keep him pinned and quiet. 

The rest of the kids dropped in hours later, and Clark listened to them get organized for the night, doing stretches and wondering at Tim's bike still being missing. From Jason's quiet 'huh' under his breath, Clark assumed he'd seen the Red Robin suit tossed in one of the lockers downstairs, but the click of the locker door being shut again gently, managed to reassure Clark that he wouldn't tell the other two whatever he thought was going on. 

\---

A night of good sleep had seemed to rejuvenate Tim, at least until the sleep deprivation would manage to catch up with him again. He was still a bit frazzled, but he was also running a multi-superhero operation on how to get Bruce back, as well as a company and a patrol route, so Clark thought that was justified. And he couldn't push for sufficient sleep too much, or Tim would start snapping at him, an annoying lesson he'd learned early in his partnership with Bruce. 

They didn't talk further about the cloning, but Clark assumed he'd get rid of it. If Tim seemed to disappear a lot on patrol, he'd check it out, but until then, he considered the matter finished, done, finito. 

The Justice League began demanding that he pull his weight again, which Clark was pretty sure was just a tactic to get him out of the house. The only one brave and comfortable enough to call him a recluse to his face was Diana, and she said it often, loudly, and with flourish. She'd dragged him back to the Watchtower, quite literally, and made him sit through a senior meeting before he was allowed to dash back down to his family.

After urging on his kids and Alfred's part, he began agreeing to share some half-shifts on the monitors with a bunch of Junior agents, because it was unfair that they fell on J'onn a lot, now that neither Bruce nor Clark had been there to fill out the rota. Besides, it was a little jarring to realize that he hadn't spoken to anyone outside of his family for... some time. The new juniors were easily spooked, but seemed to relax as the shift went on, and by the time they went their separate ways, Clark felt a little better about himself, hoping he made them feel a little better too. 

He was pretty much excluded from the search for Bruce. Tim complained of Clark being underfoot whenever he tried to help, and Diana and Ollie thought it might be best for him if he wasn't going out on too many missions, seeing as he'd only recently managed the flight to the Watchtower without fatigue. He hated the thought of being a liability, so that was mostly what kept him away. If he was only going to be in the way, he'd rather stay far away from the search, as much as it was killing him. Tim promised he'd get his chance to help, when the time was right, so Clark clung to that. 

Monitor duty could still get boring, though. He hadn't missed that part of this gig. 

Generally, Clark just kept his eyes peeled and was listening to whatever was going on in the manor or the Junior with him, as time ticked on. It was reassuring to hear Dick helping Alfred with the dishes, and Jason and Damian heatedly debating history and morality, with Tim tossing in new, disorienting facts here and there to egg them on. Their bickering was generally light-hearted, but whenever Damian expressed a more conservative view, Jason would unravel it with a tongue-lash, ready to put him in his place at any moment. There was nothing so rewarding as Damian's considering, reevaluating silence. 

Him being away from home, while probably good for all of them in the long run, meant that Clark didn't have a finger on Tim's pulse. Keeping his kids under control when they were in one place was hard enough before they lost Bruce as an authority figure, and now... Clark lets them run free a lot. Dick reigned in Damian's murderous tendencies, Alfred's stern look and Dick's yelling reigned in Jason's murderous tendencies, and Jason's ability to steal coffee mugs from right out of Tim's hand without the other boy noticing was keeping Tim from just mainlining the coffee he felt he needed to reach zen-mode. It was a working system, of sorts.

Jason's been out with Roy a lot recently, though. Clark is leaving that alone, though he can tell Ollie is dying to ask him about it. Either way, he _knows_ Jason's been away a lot recently. 

He was alone at the monitor today, too. Clark's got nothing else to do, but listen. Therefore, when he tuned in to Tim's speedy, caffeinated heartbeat for the first time that day, he began considering how to do damage control from space. 

Clark shouldn't be surprised, honestly. He blames Diana if his kids blow something up because they're unsupervised right now. Actually, now that he thought about it, it'd been two weeks since Tim stayed with him for the night. How much has he been sleeping since? Tim was an obsessive kind of person. It was easy for him to get hooked on a project and for him to be unable to let it go long enough to sleep. It shouldn't be left unsupervised.

Expanding his hearing to Tim's general vicinity, ice settled in his stomach as he recognized another heartbeat. Oh no. Tim, vulnerable from lack of sleep and too much coffee... The rest of the manor proved empty, save for Alfred, who was vacuuming in one of the sitting rooms, grumbling about the myriad of fur covering his expensive carpets. He wouldn't hear the phone over the buzz of the old vacuum. Panicked, Clark listened in, hoping that they wouldn't come to blows while he formulated an escape plan. 

"-isn't that a bit excessive, Drake?" Damian asked, his tone implying Tim was stupid for even asking whatever it was he'd been asking. 

"What is your _problem_ with Clark, anyway?" Tim asked. "All he's ever done for you has been nice. All he's ever done is try to make you comfortable, try to make you happy, even if it's a goddamn impossible mission, since you seem to have decided to hate everyone and everything on sight. Why are you still punishing him for existing when he's just been trying to make your transition to living with us easier at every step?"

Clark assumed Damian had shrugged, but the expensive fabric of the shirt Clark had seen him wear this morning was quiet, nothing like the creak of Jason's leather jacket or the swish of Dick's cape. It was another sort of armor entirely. "He left."

"Yeah, he left his other kids, too. That's what happens when you lose your other half, apparently. Not everything's about you, Damian." Tim's tone was exhausted, like just having this conversation was draining him of incredible amounts of energy.

Damian ignored that. "Interesting coming from you, who's been on Grayson's ass for months about how he didn't make father's death enough about you." 

Tim laughed, a painful, cold laugh and Clark listened, frozen in his seat, with bated breath for the swish of a batarang, a swipe of a katana. "No, you're right, he made it about you! You've got such an only child issue, it's not even funny. What you're gonna learn as you get older, Damian, is that the world is patently unfair, and that you can do goddamn everything right, and still be let down."

"Would you stop pitying yourself so much?" Damian sneered. "So Grayson told you to shut up once in your life. Suck it up. Take it like a warrior."

"It's not about that. I don't expect you to understand any emotional situation that can't be described in monosyllable words," Tim snapped back. 

Clark could hear the gritting of Damian's teeth, and then the woosh of him letting his breath out. He listened intently to the shuffling of Damian's feet, an unusually awkward gesture of their youngest, and sat baffled in his seat by Damian's next, stilted words. "We shall get father back. There's no option for failiure."

It was said like Damian was trying to be _comforting_ , but that was far from the right thing to say to convey that. In any other situation, Clark expected Tim to lash out, try to hurt the boy with his words.

Instead, Tim broke down. It was a wretched, tired sound that left his mouth, and Clark was jerked out of his chair by it. God, he'd been stupid to let Diana drag him here, stupid, stupid, _stupid_! It was clear to him that Tim needed him, that Damian wouldn't know what to do, what to say. 

"I have to go," Clark mumbled, dashing for the nearest air-lock. 

"Whoah, hey, Supes, where's the fire?" asked Flash, appearing next to him at the same speed and looking concerned as they zoomed through the corridors. 

"I gotta get home," Clark said, still strangled. "Right now. Cover me."

"Alright, alright, geeze," Barry agreed, skittering to a stop and turning on the spot. Clark stopped listening to anything other than his kids as he slammed into the steel door of the airlock, jamming his palm flat on the scanner.

"I mean, your plan will not fail!" Damian tried instead, a desperately uncomfortable note in his voice that was so painfully like Bruce's that Clark stumbled on nothing on his way into the airlock, punched in the solar plexus at that reminder. "It is strategically sound and has few flaws that we can control. It will work. There is no other option."

Tim sniffled at that, and Clark launched himself out of the Watch tower, zooming towards Gotham at breakneck speed. "Yeah," Tim mumbled. "Yeah, you're right." 

"...Why are you still crying?" It sounded like he would prefer attempting to defuse an actual bomb than ask that question, as if just the thought was torture, and yet... he'd still asked. 

"Because even _you're_ being nice to me about it, and Dick isn't!" Tim exploded, breaking into another fit of sniffling, his voice catching as his breathing became more laboured than before, close to a full-blown breakdown. _Oh baby_ , Clark thought, putting on more speed. It was true that Dick still wouldn't get involved, was still dodging any responsibility for the case. Clark would put money on the fact that it had nothing to do with Tim anymore, though, and more because of his own dual feelings on the person it was concerning. 

"I- don't know what you want me to say to that," Damian admitted, sounding like he'd rather be anywhere but here, but also unsure if that was acceptable behavior. 

Clark doubted anybody had bothered to teach him the etiquette of what to do when someone started bawling right in front of you. When it happened to you as a superhero, you usually had another task at hand, like trying to get them out of the burning building they were in, or getting them to the closest ambulance. This was a little different than that. 

This was Tim cracking under pressure and grief, him needing Dick to care. Clark didn't have a doubt in the world that if Dick had seen him like this, Tim wouldn't even have time to start crying before he was wrapped up in a hug, but Dick _wasn't_ there, wasn't there when Tim needed him. And neither was _Clark_. 

The top of the manor finally came into view, and Clark bolted through the winding tunnels underneath until he made it into the cave. Thankfully the ceilings were high, and from up above, Clark could see the two boys in the locker room part, right before the showers. 

"Kal," Damian said, sounding infinitely relieved as he laid eyes on Clark, up in the ceiling. "Great. Deal with this."

 _This_ being Tim, who was curled around his knees on the floor, his back jammed up against a locker and breathing like he was on his way to a panic attack, again. Clark wrapped Tim up in his arms, murmuring softly already to soothe. While being a bit occupied with comforting Tim, he did still have supersenses, and he could do more than one parenting thing at a time. Before he could escape, Clark noticed Damian trying to slip his way out of the locker room, sliding closer to the entrance with every milisecond. 

"Damian," he said gently, and watched the boy freeze in place as Clark rubbed Tim's side, using his other hand to nudge Tim's jaw. He felt Tim's exhausted head fall against his shoulder, immediately dripping tears on his suit. "You know what we said, about people sometimes just needing a little care and help? This is that. This is family helping out."

Damian frowned, showing teeth. "So what? You want me to _stay_?" 

Clark didn't reply, but wouldn't unpin him with his eyes. If Damian was going to leave his brother bawling on the floor, he was going to feel something about it, whether that be guilt or sympathy... Clark was going to wring it out of him, if he had to.

It took only a second for Damian to hesitate. That was... way more than Clark had even hoped for. And maybe Dick was right, and others weren't seeing Damian's progress like he was. Maybe the three-way debates between Jason, Tim and Damian had done more for Damian's sympathy for Tim than Clark had previously thought, because he seemed to resign himself, shifting his weight back to his other foot. 

No longer concerned with their youngest getting away, Clark brushed Tim's hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Hey. Want to tell me what's up, honey?" Tim ground his head against Clark's shoulder in an approximation of a headshake, not having it with his communication attempts at this time. "Okay. Then we'll just sit for a while. Alright?"

At least, Tim didn't shake him off, didn't try to get away, even with Damian this close by. Maybe, in his tiredness, Tim didn't care that Damian was even there. Clark cuddled Tim tighter, making his breathing deeper and running his fingers up his side when he was breathing in, and down when he was breathing out, in an attempt to make Tim mimic him. 

On the other side of the bench running down the middle of the locker rooms, Damian put his back against the lockers, sliding down until his butt was on the floor. He looked very put out, arms and legs crossed in front of him, but he was here. He was staying, because Clark asked, even if he looked like he wanted to bolt out of here faster than Kid Flash on a sugar rush.

Clark tuned into Tim's heart again, and noticed that it at least hadn't gotten any faster since he sat down with him. Tim's hands weren't so tight around his knees anymore, either. He pressed a kiss to Tim's head again, and waited. Damian tapped his fingers against his arm, impatient. 

"Got something you want to get off your chest, Damian?" Clark asked, glancing down at the top of Tim's head pointedly, attempting to communicate _this is a perfect moment to tell your brother that you believe in him and that you're sorry for having hurt him before_ , or at least, that was what he hoped. The boy raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, so Clark did it again, making Damian frown. He mumbled something under his breath, and Tim opened his eyes to give him a considering look. When no other words seemed to come from Damian's mouth, Tim closed his eyes again. 

"I didn't hear you there, Damian. What was that?" Clark asked politely but at the same time burning inside. 

Damian huffed, flashing teeth at him. But he did raise his voice to the audible-to human-ears level. "It was a mistake. Richard made a _mistake_ , dismissing your theory without hearing its substance." Tim squinted his eyes open at him again, and Damian rolled his eyes. "If you had been given the resources needed earlier, you would have had father back by now. And also probably would not be having a breakdown." 

Clark shot him a chastising look at that, but couldn't keep it up for long as he smiled at their youngest. That was almost as good as Clark was hoping for, and though it wasn't also a sorry, it was a step on the way towards one, a leap towards one! Damian made an annoyed grunting noise, eyes widening as he shot a pointed look at Tim back at Clark. 

"You're still visible, you know that, right?" Tim said, his voice quiet and his face blank. It seemed Tim was coming back to himself a little. There was even a hint of sass in there, which Clark considered a good indicator. Deadpan-Tim was a good Tim. Anything other than blankness was a good Tim, if Clark had a say. 

Damian rolled his eyes once more, with feeling. " _Yes_ , Drake, I know."

Tim watched his brother for a moment, seemingly understanding the effort that had taken. "Thanks, Damian," he said, his voice quiet. 

Damian gave a sharp, abrupt nod. "May I go now?" 

This time, his fingers fluttered over his arms a little nervously, rather than in impatience as they had before. Clark nodded, and Damian was out of the room in a second, like he had flames licking at his feet. Tim and Clark watched him go for a moment, and then remained there until Clark was sure Tim's little butt had to be numb, and then he rubbed the goose-bumps on the young man's arms, sighing. 

"Alright, kiddo. Let's get some water in you, and some food. Where are your brothers anyway? I didn't manage to get anything other than grumbles out of them before I left today." Clark helped his son up to sitting on the bench, rooting through the drawers in the room for a big hoodie and some pajama pants. 

"Dunno. Jason's wi-"

"With Roy," Clark interrupted under his breath, "right, can't believe I'd forget that."

"Yeah. And Dick's off... doing something. For the mission," Tim said, doing a little loop in the air with a finger. His hands were resting on his knees, and he looked exhausted again, drained to the bone. Clark wondered if he'd be able to make Tim take a month off from the cape, after this. Just to cool off. Get his strength back. Suddenly, just by thinking that, Clark felt the ache for Kon _and_ Bruce like an icepick in the chest, and he had to take a deep breath to remember how. 

"Ah. Could you raise your arms for me?" Clark asked when he pulled out a huge red hoodie that, from the burn mark on the sleeve, probably belonged to Jason. Alfred was a devil in the laundry room though, and it only smelled faintly of their detergent. Of family, and comfort, and home. No smoke at all. 

"I can put on a hoodie by myself, Clark," Tim snapped, grouchy now that he felt that he was done feeling vulnerable for the day. Thankfully, Clark was well-versed in how to deal with grouchy men. 

"Alright, hotshot. Why don't you start by raising your arms for me?" It was clear to him that Tim was still a little out of it, and all he wanted to do was help. Clearly, bargaining had to be done. "You can put your own pj-pants on, if you want to. Just thought you might need a hand."

Tim's fierce blue eyes met his, deep and steely. "How'd you know when to come, anyway?" Clark didn't even have the time to answer before Tim snorted. "Right. Superhearing. When did you become such an eavesdropper?"

"When my dad-sense tingles, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. You'll see, if you ever have kids. It's a thing. Dad-reflexes," Clark teased, shaking the hoodie out. 

Tim seemed to be doing math in his head and then his mouth dropped open. "Oh. After Bruce disappeared, huh? That's- _that's_ you coping? Listening to see if we're freaking out all the time?"

Clark gaped back, and then blinked. "I- no. Not that, exactly. Just... listening in. To see that you're okay. I did it after Jason died, too, though I think I was less... frantic about it than I am now. It's just another way for me to grieve. Or try to heal from it, I suppose. My supersenses kept coming and going, right- right after. It's more like... always having a tab open in the back of my head, keeping track of you, than me listening in all the time." 

"Why couldn't my grief do that? Why couldn't I just- just have superhearing that lets me listen in all the time?" Tim asked, but in that young, petulant way he rarely put on anymore. Clark hummed. 

"We're all different, honey. That's just how it is. And I don't think you'd enjoy it. You have enough going on in there without hearing anybody else snoring," he joked, tapping his knuckles against Tim's head. "Now come on. Arms up." 

Tim seemed to get ready to throw a fit about this, too, but Clark was a relentless kind of guy. He stood fast with the hoodie up in front of him like a shield, and finally, Tim raised his arms. The hoodie practically swallowed him, but he looked less pale already, and he only had to lean his shoulder once against Clark's while jumping into his pants. Clark dubbed it a success. 

\---

Tim and Ted Kord, along with Zatanna, had determined where Bruce would be, at what point in space and what time. Clark hadn't asked how, because he saw one of their black-boards, and just the thought of meshing math and magic made his head spin. 

They've talked through the plan from the ground up about a dozen times, at this point. It doesn't have too many parts now that all of their items have been gathered, but it has one key point that he's focused on: Clark is going to pull Bruce from the ether. 

Like there was ever any other option. He can hear Bruce's annoyed voice pointing out that he's not immune to magic and that he's being stupid, taking this risk, when their kids only have one parent left standing. 

After today, Clark is going to make sure they have two. 

If he doesn't make it, though. He's generally an optimistic guy, evening out Bruce's pessimism. He does feel pretty dang confident Tim has hammered this thing out as much as he can, but if Clark doesn't manage, well.

The adults of the family talked it out. Him, Ma, Jason, Alfred and Dick made contingency plans, when nobody else was listening. 

They have enough money to put all four of the kids through college, if that's what they want. Dick seemed unsure, and Jason also very skeptical, but Clark thinks they can do great things in the world, and while they can do that without college degrees, he'd much prefer it if they had them, to fall back on. 

They can sell the manor if they want to as well, though Dick argues that Damian should have it for when he's older. At least they all agree when Clark says that Tim should get his Metropolis apartment, and the Fortress, though Jason says he wants the book he left there ages ago back first. 

Whenever they need a break, the kids and Alfred are going to go to Kansas, and leave the Birds of Prey in charge. They've also set up funds for all of them, for college, for apartments, or even if they want to quit all of the superhero stuff after this. Clark would understand, really. Even Jason gets money, though he protested profusely. After much pressing, he let slip an alias that would check out if the bank comes for him. They've also set up the papers for permanent legal guardianship over Damian, as opposed to the temporary one Dick has now, to be filed in case of emergency, made sure Tim's emergency contact in all matters would either be Jason, Alfred or Dick. 

The point is, they're ready. As ready as they're going to be. If Clark doesn't come back, Dick won't be on his own to handle what comes next. They will all have their brothers for help. They will all have whatever is left of their family. 

Alfred can't be convinced to stay home for this one, either. At least he'd been talked out of pulling Bruce back himself. Jason had skipped out, despite the protest of all of his brothers and even Diana, but he'd gotten his way and was home with the pets. Clark had seen the look in his eyes, though, dark and haunted. As much as Jason was ready to forgive the innocent parties involved, he wasn't sure how much of the rift between Bruce and him had changed. He'd made a joke about being the designated survivor, which had fallen flat, and he'd winced as he said it. Maybe coming back to life didn't have the same positive connotations for him, as it currently had for the rest of them either. 

On the other side of the room from Clark, Zatanna has a magical barrier the size of a small country smacked up, and through its shimmering purple haze, Clark can see Tim pressing his fingers up against it, like he wants to tear his way right through it. Batman and Robin flank him, with Zatanna and Alfred behind them, and... pretty much all of their senior JL members. The founders. They're about to be joined by one more, if Clark gets his way. 

There was a click as the comm in his ear switched on. "Ready when you are, Superman," came Diana's strong voice. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, using a calming technique Bruce had taught him years ago to center his point of gravity, locking himself into place. "Thank you, Wonder Woman. Go ahead."

It's taken them a lot of time to get the objects needed to generate the magical energy you'd need to open a portal in space and time. It went faster once the JL and Batman's magician contacts pitched in, but to see it all come to fruition... it's a lot, to be honest. They've built an iron dome specifically for this, protecting the outside world from possible anomalies, with tech that can hold firm without crumbling from the magic intensity. 

One of the robot arms that were built for this particular event moves the object it's holding closer, and all the other crescent shaped objects begin vibrating, their humming making Clark's teeth rattle in his skull. He holds firm, waiting as the robot hands align, completing the circle. They begin to glow, and a whoosh makes Clark's cape flutter behind him when they all click together, like a giant clock about to strike midnight. 

The vortex that appears looks like all the colors of the rainbow, bleeding in and out of each other and swirling their way into darkness. Sort of like what the world looks like before Clark would pass out during Kryptonite poisoning, but kept open and contained by thin rocks and metal hands. The magical objects of the circle holding the portal open glow golden, so bright that it feels like sunlight up close. Clark steels himself, imagining that his feet are nailed to the floor. He will not let this portal pull him away. 

Holding his breath, he raises a hand, and stretches it towards the portal, like he was going to shake hands with whatever was on the other side. _Some part of you has to stay here_ , Zatanna's voice repeats on a loop in the back of his mind insistently. _Some part of you has to stay right on this side of the portal, or you won't be able to pull him back. Stay, stay, stay,_ Clark internally chants back.

After what feels like an eternity, his fingers touch the vortex. As much as Clark loved words, this time he truly was speechless. He was touching the fabric of time and space, or more accurately, a rip in it. Zatanna had told him to just use the one hand, that the more of him was on this side, the less risk there would be of all of him ending up on the other side. That it would be too dangerous, too big of a risk, and Clark gets that now. The sensation of his fingers and the rest of his hand sliding through it was truly indescribable, and the pull of it was incredibly strong, like a whirlpool focused around his whole arm, but Clark wasn't so much focused on that as what he was reaching for. 

He clears his throat, trying to swallow the lump in there. It all comes down to if he can say his name. Which is silly. It shouldn't be hard. It's just a simple name, not even two syllables. Clark hasn't managed to bring himself to say it in months though. But if that's what it takes? Clark is going to _do_ it. He's- oh god. He can't.   
He can't say it, and what will happen if he doesn't manage? Tim's months of research will be for nothing, their friends helping will be for nothing, all their fighting will have been for _nothing_ if he can't even do _one_ goddamn thing and say his partner's name. 

Clark opens his mouth. Closes it again. Crap. 

"Kal?" came Alfred's voice, crackling over the comm in his ear. The static from the magic interference was almost too much, but it snapped Clark out of his spiral, and he cleared his throat, nodded. "Bring him home for us."

Clark closes his eyes, and nods again. Yeah. He can- he can totally do this. 

"Bruce," he croaks, _finally_. The name feels like it's been ripped out of him, like it shredded his throat on the way out, broken glass tangled around barbed wire wrapped around that name. He swallows, and repeats it. Louder. It doesn't hurt as much now that he's said it twice. He's almost euphoric at the thought of it, and once he's started, he can't seem to stop saying it, keeps chanting Bruce, _Bruce_ -

A calloused hand grips his firmly. 

Clark gasped, his whole body jerking in surprise. It makes him lurch forward half a foot, and the whirlpool pulls harder, almost yanking him clear off his feet. If it weren't for him imagining his boots nailed to the floor, he might've been swallowed whole by the portal, which swirls around his hand in hypnotic patterns. He can practically hear Bruce's internal cursing at him being so foolish, about how he's not going to ruin a damn opportunity to be saved just because his partner wasn't up to snuff. 

The fact that this might actually be his partner's internal monologue steels Clark, and he uses his incredible strength for all it's worth. No way is he going to fumble one of the most important moments of his life, not more than he already has. But by god, it was _hard_. He's dragged a lot of heavy things in his day, but this felt like trying to pull a skyscraper clean from the ground, like the portal was pulling with as much force as Clark himself was, but in the opposite direction. Like a finger-trap, stopping him. 

His muscles strained, the ones in his back pulling and aching from the pressure on them. Zatanna had warned him about more than one hand, but he can't stop now, and this isn't enough, isn't going to work with just one hand. Wincing, he jabbed his other hand right through the sleek steel of the portal, much to the outcry in his comm, though the static was overpowering at this point. 

"Bruce-" Clark gasped when his other hand was wrapped up in the same calloused warmth, and his determination was incensed. Stubborn as a mule and just as good at pulling, Clark shifted one foot one step backwards. The portal shuddered dangerously, and one of the crescents cracked loudly, but Clark had a feeling in his gut. He'd managed to break one of Bruce's stupid finger-traps before, on accident once and out of pure stubbornness another time. This portal was a sucker, and it was _not_ going to get his partner.

Clark took one more step back, and his ears popped as the pressure of the whirlpool let him go, but that was only because his hands were no longer right up in it. Instead, he saw parts of two very familiar forearms, sticking out of the dark, swirling rainbow of the portal, and Clark kept pulling, faster now that he could feel the portal shuddering at every other part of Bruce that appeared out of its shimmery depths. When the top part of Bruce's torso was out, Clark shifted his grip, desperately fast, grabbing underneath his armpits and hoisting him the rest of the way out of the portal. 

That did the trick. The portal flickered in and out of existance, and with another ear-deafening pop, it imploded. Twisting fast, Clark used himself to shield Bruce from the possible blast wave, covering his ears as best he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the large purple wall of Zatanna's magic waver under it, and heard, for a brief moment, her angry yelling at him through the comm. It still held firm. 

Clark looked down to the man in his arms, nudging Bruce's head with his shoulder to try and get a reaction. "Bruce? Honey, are you okay?" he whispered, so fast he wasn't sure Bruce had even heard him.

"Like being born," Bruce mumbled into the meat of Clark's shoulder. 

Clark snorted. "What?" he said, putting Bruce back on his feet, because for all the excitement, Bruce wasn't a fan of being carried around in the air. At Clark's incredulousness, Bruce sighed, and straightened up, remaining a scant few inches from him. 

" _That_. Was like being born," Bruce said, nodding his head over Clark's shoulder and frowning. It's pretty much the most beautiful thing Clark's ever seen. He's never again going to complain about Bruce frowning (He knows he will. But not for quite some weeks, at least).

"Not even you, with your crazy memory, can remember what being born was like," Clark said, too giddy at hearing Bruce's smooth, baritone voice to recognize that they sounded like lunatics. 

"Well, Kal, I have a pretty good guess now," Bruce agreed, finally meeting his eyes. 

Time stops. 

Bruce looks him in the eyes, and it’s all there, the love, the disbelief that they can still have this. Bruce looks at him like he did that first time they took Dick to the state fair, like the first time Jason fell asleep leaning on Clark, like the first time Tim stepped into a Robin suit, like he can't believe they're sharing this moment together right now. 

Clark did it. The love of his life is here. Alive, and if not healthy then at least in one piece, looking at Clark with steel-blue eyes that he's been missing so bad. Bruce's thumb strokes over the back of his hand, like he's having the same revelation too. 

"It's him," came Diana's surprised voice, breaking through the static in his brain and comm as he just _stares_ at Bruce. "Kal, you did it! The computers are- "

Clark doesn't need her to say it, stops listening right away, because he _knows_. Something deep in him has settled, knows the calling of his other half, knows exactly who's standing in front of him, gripping his hand. They move towards each other in a practiced motion, still in tune after all this time apart. 

The kiss wasn't as earth-shattering as he’d expected, but it’s because it’s familiar. Bruce smells the same, his mouth tastes the same. It’s more like coming home than any explosive new experience. Like sinking into a hot bath at the end of a rough day, a comfort and a relief. It's everything Clark's been missing and more, the fireworks under his skin ten times more than any trip to the sun could ever achieve. Clark lifted Bruce up and did a little spin, because that was the only way he could stop himself from bursting into pieces, the source of his joy like a supernova inside of him.

“Kal, we’re making a scene,” Bruce murmured against his lips, putting his palms flat against Clark’s chest but not pushing. His fingers flexed, like he ached to grab onto Clark's suit, just hold on, and Clark pulled him closer to his body, urging him on as he sank back down to the ground. 

“Don’t care,” he said, his voice hoarse. "Don't care, don't care at all."

Bruce chuckled, the deep one that rattled through Clark's body like a shudder. Or maybe that was just his hands shaking as he cupped Bruce's face, that strong jaw fitting so perfectly in his hands again, like it was meant to be there. Just like Bruce's gentle hands cradled his heart in his palms.

"Hmm. Maybe just this once, neither do I."

"Oh, just this once, huh?" Clark laughed, his eyes tearing up. "Very generous of you."

"I'm the picture of generosity," Bruce agreed, and there was a shout from the other side of the room, where the purple shield had given way. When Clark managed to tear his eyes away from his partner for just a second, he could make out Zatanna collapsed against Alfred, but most importantly, Tim barrelling towards them, with Dick and Damian hot on his heels.

Dick still managed to get to them first, and practically leaped at them, crashing into Bruce's side and making the older man grunt. Next, Tim stopped just short of them, but his eyes were so wild that Clark couldn't resist pulling him into their little impromptu group hug. Damian weaseled in between Clark and Bruce, pressing into the center of their huddle like he wanted to keep this particular outburst of emotion secret. 

"I can tell I haven't been missed much," Bruce murmured, his voice filled with gravel as he tangled one hand in Clark's hair to drag him close and gripped the back of Tim's neck, shutting his eyes tightly. 

"Oh shut up, old man," Dick said, sounding just as close to the verge of tears. "Get this suit away from me before I burn it."

"It's a perfectly good suit, chum, no need to go destroying it," Bruce said, brushing his lips against Dick's cheekbone, so sneaky and quick that nobody could've noticed except them. He squeezed Tim's neck again. "New costume for you, too, huh?"

"You could say it's been an overwhelming few months," Tim said, sinking into Bruce's hold on him like he'd never been this relieved in his life. 

"I can tell," Bruce murmured, releasing Clark's hair to cradle Damian's head against his stomach, brushing achingly tender fingers behind his ear and making Damian shiver from top to toe, even in his cool new Robin duds. 

"New fashionable outfit?" Dick snarked, indicating Bruce's lack of shirt and half of his pants. Thankfully, all the important bits were covered, though Clark's sure all the superheroes were pretty relaxed about nudity with the amount of locker rooms they'd been in. 

"You know how I like to be ahead of the times," Bruce agreed. Then he made a face. "Or in this case, behind them." 

Clark laughed, realizing how out of it he sounded, but he couldn't stop admiring his lover's perfect outline, his dirty hair, the beginnings of a beard on his face. The kids looked a little dumbstruck too, save for Damian, who probably wasn't coming up for air until he at least stopped having emotions showing on his face around strangers. 

"Batman," Diana called from a bit above them with a wide smile parting her cherry red lips, and both Dick and Bruce turned their heads towards her. That was going to take some time to get used to, that's for sure. "I am very pleased to see you."

"As am I," Bruce said, nodding towards her. "I don't think I'm getting out of this cluster for some time, or I would be saying a more proper hello."

Diana laughed, putting her hands on her hips. "Well, it's understandable. They've worked very hard to get you back. You take your time here, but you're not leaving without a medical exam. Just so you know."

"Oh joy," Bruce deadpanned, and Clark pressed their foreheads together again, his wide grin almost hurting his face. Bruce beamed back, in that focused, minimal way that he had. His eyes glowed, the corners of his lips twitching, the crinkles by his eyes deepening, and Clark couldn't help himself, could only envelop this gather of his family and hold on for another moment. 

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I said fuck DC canon, let my sweet batfamily live. You heard me.   
> That said, hope this initial reunion was what you were hoping for! Again, sorry about the tenses, I- um. I have no new explanation for them. Still the muses being bitchy. Thank you so much for all your thoughtful comments and the kudos and the bookmarks!!! It's so encouraging and I love you all so much.   
> Now, this story isn't finished quite yet. We're still missing some people, aren't we? ;)


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to hear the positive response from last chapter! You guys are so sweet! :)   
> Now, some fluff, before we get to the heartwrenchingly emotional tough conversation bits. ALSO schmoop, because, well, part of the reason I wrote this is because I wanted to show Clark and Bruce being crazy in love forever, lol.  
> Enjoy! <3

His bats, for all that they'd been very brave and emotional, could only be so in public a few moments at a time. After a few more moments, Dick pulled away from the hug, and Damian and Tim followed suit, observing Clark and Bruce remaining close from a step back. Alfred approached them in a civilized, calm manner, now that he'd seen to it to get Zatanna sitting in a chair, with Diana watching her like a hawk as she drank a glass of water.

"Alfred," Bruce said, his voice the very essence of surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Alfred tsked. "What a silly, impertinent, downright rude question, Mister Wayne," he said, and tugged Bruce into a bone-crushing hug. Clark watched Bruce wrap his arms around Alfred like a drowning man for a second, and was almost moved enough to envelop the both of them in a hug as well. However, he didn't make it in time before they both pulled back. "Hrm. Yes," Alfred huffed, smoothing down the front of his formerly crisp shirt. "Now, what do you think you're doing, running around as filthy as this? You have dirt all over your face. And _where_ is your shirt."

"I've been in a desert and a swamp, Alfred. It's hard to stay clean when it's hot and you're sweating and there's sand and mud everywhere," Bruce said, as Alfred whipped out a hankerchief from seemingly nowhere, and wiped at a stubborn smear of what looked like dried blood on Bruce's neck. "It's fine, really."

"See, the missing shirt part is what bothers me the most," Tim said, his head tilted. His tone was light and amused. Like he was _teasing_. "It's not very proper of him."

"It is _not_ proper in company, young sir, you're entirely correct," Alfred agreed hotly, incensed as he rubbed harder on the spot on Bruce's neck. Bruce shot Tim an exasperated look before the force of Alfred's rubbing made his head tilt back. "Disappearing for months, with no word, no _nothing_ -" 

Clark wondered if it was really dried blood making Bruce's skin red now, or just Alfred's vigorous rubbing. Bruce grabbed Alfred's wrist to pull it away, and tilted his head back down so he could meet the old man's eyes. "Sorry," he said. The sheer sincerity in his voice shook even Clark to the core. 

Alfred's indignation seemed to leave him in a woosh, and he deflated a bit as he sighed. "Yes, well. Don't do it again, Master Bruce."

"I'll try my best," Bruce agreed, squeezing Alfred's arm comfortingly.

Despite the computers and Clark claiming this was Bruce, they still had a protocol to follow for recovery missions, and since it was Bruce that had made them set these conditions to reaffirm superhero identities in the first place, Clark pointed out it would be very hypocritical of him to avoid them, so off to the Watchtower it was. 

About two hours of tests later, the computers and several of the JL doctors confirmed what Clark had already discerned: this was Bruce, and he was whole and healthy and _here_. 

He's pretty sure in any other situation, Bruce would've been driven to distraction by Clark hovering around him. Not literally hovering yet, but, y'know, it was hard to keep his hands off of him when he hadn't been seen in months, when he'd been assumed dead. He should be allowed to be a bit hands-on.

As it was, Bruce seemed very annoyed by all the other people poking at him and scanning him, but his eyes kept searching the room, landing on their kids, on Clark. Finding reassurance in his family. Clark thought it felt a bit like making Alfred the Cat show his belly at the vet: he felt safer with his family there to keep an eye on things going on around him. It was hard to get the little kitten in his crate without Tim or Damian's assistance, at this point. At least Clark could snatch Bruce up without the other man trying to scratch him to death. 

Finally, all they had to do was an x-ray to confirm three specific bone injuries Bruce had presented x-rays for a few years ago, and then they would be cleared to go. Frankly, Clark thought this was getting a bit ridiculous, and Bruce had his arms crossed, where he was laying on the med-bay bed. 

"Alright, out of the room," said Ted Kord, nodding towards their kids, Diana, and Clark himself. Their kids stood up obediently, and Diana shoved her sword back in its sheath, from where she'd been showing Damian her blade, preparing to stand. Clark stayed sitting. "That means you too, Superman."

"Oh it's fine, I'm, y'know-" he waved a hand at his family crest on his chest, and Bruce groaned, finally reaching his threshold. Clark was sort of amazed he'd held it in for this long, and he turned to look at his partner expectingly. 

"Kal. You don't have to sit with me when I get an x-ray. I can handle that on my own, I can assure you," Bruce said, gritting his teeth.

"I could do it for you right here with my own eyes, B! It's not like I can't handle the radiation."

Bruce rolled his eyes at Clark's mother-henning. "Since when are you a medical doctor? And don't take any such chances right now. For all we know, an alien species made of kryptonite and radiation could invade any second, and then what are you going to do?"

Clark gaped at his partner, shocked to the core that he'd risk jinxing them like that. "I can't- I can't even _believe_ you'd say that right now! We've got to go knock on wood now, just because you said that!"

Bruce looked ready to blow a gasket. "Kal, we're in space. Wrapped in a metal casing of a pod. _Where_ are you going to find wood?"

"I don't know, but I'll have to! Or salt. Do we have any salt?" He turned his head over his shoulder to look at Dick, who pursed his lips. 

"RR, Robin, cafeteria," he said, in his unyielding Batman voice. Both the boys grumbled but seemed to take on this task just because they had nothing better to do. When Clark raised his eyebrows at Dick, he gave a short nod, and followed them out of the med bay. He paused with one foot out the door, and turned to look at them with a smirk that was more Nightwing than Batman. "Am I the only one who's reassured that they're bickering again?"

"We almost don't need the tests," Diana agreed with a secretive smile on her face. "It's very soothing. Not so soothing when they bicker on missions. B, we can do without Kal for the time your x-ray takes. Don't be so stubborn. Relish in being reunited with your partner."

And with those parting words, Diana and their kids were out the door. Bruce huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Kord, give us a minute."

Ted held his hands up, backing out of the room as well. Clark cocked his head, and listened to the five of them walking to the cafeteria. He hoped the kids would grab a snack there.

"Gone?" Bruce asked, and Clark nodded, zoning back in. Bruce had gotten cleaned up a bit. After Clark had sworn what was essentially a blood-oath that he'd get Bruce checked out for every scrape and soreness, Alfred had agreed to return to the manor and acquire some clothing that wasn't dirty or ripped, since the League had cleaned out Bruce's locker after six months. Also in accordance with the rules Bruce had set up. He was unshaven still, but his eyes were as sharp as always, and Clark thought he looked mighty pretty, especially when he glared at Clark like that. 

"Yeah. Though, when have you ever needed to banish our audience to yell at me?" Clark teased, bouncing his eyebrows at his partner. Bruce rolled his eyes again, but his face actually broke out in a little smile, no longer glaring. Yeah, he was mighty pretty like this, too. 

"I'm not going to yell. Are you going to yell?"

"No. I know I'm hovering, and I'm not going to stop. I _can't_ stop, so if that bothers you, you're gonna have to suck it up for a while, and I assumed that me saying that would make you want to yell," Clark shrugged, bracing for Bruce to get pissy.

Instead, Bruce proceeded to suck all the air out of the room with his next words. "I've missed you too, Clark," he admitted softly. Clark took a deep breath, concentrated on getting it all out on his next exhale. 

"Not here. Not now," Clark murmured, his voice rough with tears. Just the thought of talking about missing Bruce right here and now was too overwhelming to even consider, and Bruce snaked a hand out to grab his, nodding as he pressed a kiss to each of Clark's fingers.

"Okay. Later," Bruce agreed when Clark leaned in to kiss to his partner's chapped lips. When he pulled back, Clark found Bruce's eyes searching his face intently. "You like working with Dick as Batman more than with me?" 

Clark let out an incredulous huff. "Your insecurities know no bounds. What kind of a question is that even?"

Bruce hummed. "Not insecurity. Just curiosity. I always thought it'd be interesting to see how you two would work in field, as equals. You sparr well together, but that's in controlled circumstances, fighting each other instead of against a common enemy. Could you cooperate in a moment where he wouldn't let you protect him the way you always seem to want to?" 

Clark turned their hands, pressing his thumb into Bruce's palm and rubbing a little circle there. "I haven't gone on a single mission with him as Batman, actually. And I thought we were done fighting about me 'taking his side' and being 'overprotective' years ago." With his other hand, he did the citation marks required without letting go of Bruce, and saw the corners of his lips twitch. 

Then Bruce's eyebrows furrowed. "I suspect we'll always be having that particular discussion on some level. What do you mean?"

"What do I mean with what?"

"That you've never been on a mission with him as Batman."

"I mean that I haven't been on a mission with Dick as Batman."

Bruce blinked. "That can't be correct. It's been what, eight months, nine? Not a single one in all that time?"

"Nope," Clark said, popping the p. He tilted his head as he heard footsteps approaching again. "Ted's coming back."

Bruce pursed his lips shut, and hummed as he watched the door, and Ted approaching behind the glass, holding a cup of steaming coffee. "You're still being ridiculous about the x-ray thing."

"Says the guy who's still keeps those Wonder Woman band-aids in the infirmary in the cave because the kids firmly believe they have magical healing powers," Clark grinned.

"That's different," Bruce protested, but he let Clark hold his hand through the rest of the examination anyway. 

\---

Finally they were cleared to go. It was probably partly because Bruce was getting more irritable as time went on, and while he'd accepted a few hugs and slaps on the back from people who weren't family, there was a point where he was just _done_. Clark also assumed he hadn't eaten or drank properly in a while, and he was very eager to get Bruce home. Alfred had sent up clothes but stayed in the manor to prepare dinner and, Clark assumed, pepping Jason into staying, now that they'd known their mission was successful.

They used the Zeta tube into the cave, and it looked like Bruce's shoulders relaxed a whole inch when he stepped out on the smooth stone platform. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was a luminous quality to them. Contentment seeping out of his every pore. Bruce strode with purpose up the stairs leading to the main landing, where the batcomputer stood, and the rest of them followed him in silence, watching his every move in a context they never thought they'd ever get to see him in again. 

"Have you made a mess of my filing system, Dick?" Bruce asked knowingly when he stopped by the batcomputer, eyeing their oldest as he pulled the cowl back. 

"No," Dick said defensively, and then grinned. "I mean. Nah. Tim's been helping me sort the backlog, and Babs too. It shouldn't be too messed up."

"Worry about the filing system later," Clark said, exasperatedly. "Kids, go change. Dinner's going to be soon, I'm sure." 

Dick nudged Damian towards the showers, and the boy remained quiet, casting one last glance at his father over his shoulder before he trooped into the locker room. Tim was way ahead of them, and Dick smiled once more as Bruce sank into the chair in front of the batcomputer. 

"Like a hand and a glove with you still, huh?" he asked, nodding towards Bruce, seated in his computer chair like a king in a throne, regal and assured. 

"Like coming home," Bruce agreed, though he had a contemplative look on his face as Dick nodded and slipped off silently as well. As soon as he was out of sight, Bruce lowered his voice. "I thought Dick hated the cape. Thought for sure he'd get rid of it. Maybe the cowl, too, or do a half-one, like Barbara had when she was Batgirl."

"He's been trying to fill your shoes. Trick the criminals and the GCPD into thinking he was you," Clark said, leaning against the computer panel next to Bruce. 

"Ah," Bruce said, leaning back in the chair. "That sounds... Hm. I think Jason's more the correct body-type for that, really. Too bad he'd be too blood-thirsty to be a good Batman." Clark sucked his lip in between his teeth, and Bruce, ever observant, looked up at him. "What?"

"There's been... a lot of changes here, since you were gone. We're actually on pretty good terms with Jason right now," Clark divulged. Bruce's eyebrows raised, and his mouth dropped open infintesimally. "He takes Damian on runs everyday. Helps Tim with whatever he needs help with for the day. Does the dishes with Alfred, spars with Dick. He's... doing pretty good, actually." Clark found himself smiling at the dumb-struck look on Bruce's face. "Yeah. It's pretty nice, actually."

For a moment, Bruce actually seemed lost for words. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Kept staring with big eyes at Clark. "I- don't know what to say," Bruce finally groused, blinking fast. 

"You better think of something quick, then. He's upstairs," Clark said softly. "I think he'd at least like to stay for dinner. He patrols with the others a lot, too, so he'll probably stay until then. Though, y'know, he's also been... staying here. In a guest room, though I did offer his old one at first. Seems he finds it as terrifying as we do."

"You got Jason to stay. Here. In the manor. For a longer period of time," Bruce clarified. 

"Yes. It's done wonders for us all, I think." 

"Did you ground him?" Bruce asked, his eyes alight with amusement. 

Clark gaped. "How could you _possibly_ know that?"

Bruce let out a laugh, a genuine, if short laugh, and Clark found himself slipping closer, enticed by the crinkles around Bruce's eyes, by his partner's fingers tapping on his thigh. "I grounded him about a billion times when he was little, and the only time he took it seriously was when _you_ grounded him first. He knew he'd screwed up for real then, when he'd gotten you pissed enough at him to ground him."

Clark reflected back on all the groundings concerning Jason he could remember, and realized that Bruce was probably right. Tim, too, seemed to have the same approach. Dick had only been reeled in by Bruce's groundings, always laughing off Clark's. "Good god. With our overlapping authority, how come all our kids have still turned into some kind of delinquents?"

"You said it wrong. You mean vigilantes," Bruce said off-handedly, using the hand not on Clark's leg to blip through his files almost faster than Clark could grasp what they said. "You should go change too, Clark. I've... missed your flannels."

Clark felt his eyebrows raising, and Bruce wouldn't meet his eyes at this confession. "Oooh, is that so? When I wear them, they're an unfashionable eye sore, but when you haven't seen them in a while, suddenly you miss them? I see how it is. We like making each other's lives difficult, do we? I'll have you know that I have no clue if I even have a flannel down here right this second, so if I don't, you'll just have to wait!" Clark grinned, turning towards the locker room as well.

"You always have at least one down here, unless one of the kids stole it. And besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder," Bruce said sarcastically, and Clark froze mid-step. He turned back around, nudged Bruce's chin to get him to meet his eyes. 

"No, it doesn't. _No more_ absence. You got it, Batman?" Clark said, knowing his voice was shaking a little. 

Bruce watched him for a moment, before grabbing Clark's hand and pressing a kiss to his palm, his blue eyes soft and understanding. "Yes, Superman. Now go get dressed so we can eat."

Clark nodded, and hurried after his kids. Tim and Damian were out of the showers already, shimmying into cozy clothes, and as Clark buttoned up the one yellow-green flannel he had down here, Dick stepped out of the showers too. When they reentered the cave, Bruce rose from his chair, and followed the kids as they began discussing what Alfred might have cooked up.

"Still an eye-sore. Just a comforting one," Bruce murmured in his ear, pressing his hand firmly against the small of Clark's back to guide him towards the elevator. Clark just leaned into his strong presence, unable to untie his tongue long enough to give a snappy response. 

They stepped out into the study, and Clark watched Bruce take it in, probably surprised by the lack of changes. For all Clark knew, nobody had touched what was on the desk since he disappeared. They trailed their kids into the kitchen, where Alfred was stirring something in a pot, with Jason leaning on the kitchen island, with a treat perched on Ace's nose right in front of him. 

"Get it," Jason commanded, and Ace reared back and nabbed the treat out of the air as Jason rubbed her side. He was wearing the same sweats and tank top he'd worn when they left this morning, though it seemed he had shaved since then. "Good girl."

"Sup, Jase. What's for dinner, Al?" Dick asked, peeking into the pot over Alfred's shoulder. Jason recieved a hug from Clark with grace, though he wouldn't look up at the doorway, where Bruce stood rooted to the spot. Jason had a hold of Ace's collar with the one hand, scratching under her chin to keep her attention on him. 

"Goulash. I thought we might all do with a hearty meal," Alfred relayed, glancing over his shoulder. Jason seemed to brace himself, and looked up at the person crowding the entranceway. 

"Well I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath as he stood up from his barstool, releasing Ace's collar. Ace, who had never been mislead by her nose once in her life, dashed over to Bruce, and attempted to tackle him clear to the floor in her excitement. Jason shook his head a little, before opening his arms expansively, making up for his shakiness with gusto. "Timbo! Our little genius! How's the braincell?"

Tim elbowed him when Jason tried to grab him in a headlock, but shot him a smirk. "It's fine, thanks. No more fried than earlier, at least."

"That's always good news. Dames, what'd you think of the Watchtower?"

Damian sniffed derisively, also taking a tempted gander at Alfred's cooking. Alfred nudged the cutting board next to him, still filled with little pieces of bell pepper. Damian popped a few squares in his mouth and chewed as he thought. "Impressive, if rudimentary design. Good vending machine snacks."

"It's not designed to be artistic," Clark smiled. "It's supposed to be a bit clunky."

"I take offense to the word clunky," Bruce said from the floor, where Ace had pinned him, still licking at him. "It gets the job done. That's what matters"

"It's also shaped like an unfortunate butt-plug," Jason muttered. Dick smacked his hands over Damian's ears, stretching a long leg out to kick after Jason's ass. Jason managed to dodge out of the way, and Dick managed to kick a chair instead, making it screech across the floor and startling Ace. The oldest couldn't go after him without letting go of Damian's head, and while Damian valiantly tried to pry his hands off, that didn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

"Jason!" he yelled, but Tim grinned, wide enough to show teeth, and that, that's what it was all about for Clark. Seeing their kids having fun, poking at each other without snapping, and Damian rolling his eyes so dramatically it almost looked like they were close to popping out of his head. 

"Would you cut it out, Grayson? I've told you-" 

"Shh!" Dick said, eyeing Damian. "I am- we are _not_ having this discussion. You're _ten_."

"No, Jason's right," Bruce agreed, laughter in his voice as he looked up at where Jason was hiding behind the kitchen island. "It does have some resemblance. I can assure you that wasn't my thought when I designed it, though. I was only trying to optimize the room provided, and make it easy to shoot up into space."

Jason tipped his head from side to side, dodging another kick from his brother. "Yeah, fair. Rockets are in general dildo shaped," he said, and he and Bruce met eyes. Dick made a strangled noise that could be a laugh. Clark couldn't tell exactly what it was, because he was hiding his face in his arm. Jason shrugged. "Though maybe a bit too big and pointy." 

"Only if you're a weakling," Tim said, with absolutely no shame and an entirely blank face. Clark found his cheeks reddening as he shook his head at them and pulled a snorting Bruce to his feet. 

"Please, masters," Alfred said, his tone mild but exasperated. "No more of this. Take your seats. Dinner is ready to be served." 

\---

Dinner was delicious, and it felt wonderful to gather around the table with Bruce at the head of it again, completing their little 'u' of a family formation. 

Just because Bruce was back did not mean their after-dinner ritual no longer applied, though. Today, the kids decided on another round of cards, Snap this time. Alfred, who found their attitudes very amusing, asked if they needed another player, and recieved a resounding 'no', with Jason adding a sweet little 'thanks'. When Bruce settled in one of the chairs, Clark dragged the other one over to him, and while Bruce rolled his eyes at him, he still rested his hand on the armrest so Clark could hold onto him.

Bruce watched their kids play and bicker with an awed look, though Clark doubted anybody else would be able to recognize it as that. It was all about the twist to the corners of his lips, the little uptick in them, his attentive eyes as he watched Tim and Damian jab at each other without actual malice, saw Dick and Jason laughing at their brothers. The only reason Clark wasn't making drastic, dramatic 'look at our kids behaving and being nice' motions was because he didn't _have_ to. He could trust Bruce to notice, could trust that his partner could feel him practically vibrating in his seat with excitement and still focus on their kids, and just the thought of that only thrilled him more, because Bruce was _back_. 

Clark could count on his one hand how many times Bruce and Jason had made eye-contact or spoken to each other during the evening, but maybe that was for the best, today. Damian only had to be restrained from throwing a tantrum once, and when Tim threw a card, with batarang-honed accuracy, at Jason's laughing face, Clark managed to catch it before it actually hit him. An alright score of incidents for game-nights, really. Nobody even managed to get a scratch on their person. Clark pretended to read, but he was mostly watching Bruce, who was catching up on the news on his tablet, but mostly looking at the kids. 

Their family evening came to an end though, as it always did. 

Jason grabbed Dick's arm to see his watch. "Patrol time," he said, standing up. Dick hopped up, too, and then froze. He glanced at Bruce for a second, who gave a short nod. 

"I'm in no condition to go on patrol tonight," he said, squeezing Clark's hand on top of his knee. "You go ahead. I have to talk to your pop."

Dick, for some strange reason, seemed a bit relieved. As much as he'd complained about being Batman, now that he could ditch the gig and run off, he seemed a bit reluctant. Clark had a pretty good guess at the Damian-shaped reason why, but he wasn't going to tackle that tonight, if Bruce was willing to fold on the issue so easily. The kids filed out, Jason stopping to get a kiss on the cheek while grumbling, while Damian accepted a shoulder-squeeze and Dick a half-hug. When no fourth kid came to get some love, Clark narrowed his eyes. 

"Tim," he said, his voice even and barely above normal speaking level. By the door, Tim startled guiltily, looking back over his shoulder with an innocent look on his face. Jason patted him on the back before stepping out of the room after Dick and Damian, even as Tim tried to tug him back. 

"Yes, Clark?" he replied, his voice equally even, despite his desperate fumblings to get a grip on Jason's jacket. Jason managed to swat his hand off and get out of dodge, but it was a close call. 

"You've been up all night." 

"Yeah... kind of comes with the job, pop."

"I'd really prefer it if you stayed home tonight," Clark said, firmly this time, trying to relay his concerns in a way that wouldn't piss Tim off. "You haven't slept enough or eaten enough all week, and I've let it slide because we've been figuring the last details out, but tonight, you're going to take the night to sleep. If you have any pressing cases, pass them on to Jase, Dick or Babs, and they'll keep an eye on them. Please?"

Tim seemed to consider this, his eyes glancing over at Bruce, who was staying silent on the subject. Bruce did know when he was not running the conversation, he just liked to ignore that a lot. Now, he sat silent, mostly watching the side of Clark's face with glowing eyes. 

When he saw that Bruce wasn't going to back him up on this, Tim pursed his lips. "Fine. But Alfred's sleeping in _my_ room." 

Clark beamed. "If you think you can keep him in there, sure. Go for it. Thank you, Tim. You did good today." 

This time, Tim came over to get a smooch on the cheek from his pops, accepting it gratefully, if a bit sullen. 

"Wait," Bruce said, standing up as the boy turned to leave again. Tim raised an eyebrow at him, and they met eyes. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Bruce raised his arms in a tentative gesture, and Tim blinked rapidly as he leaned into Bruce's open arms. Their hug was a little awkward, in that way hugs could be when performed by awkward, emotionally repressed nerds such as these two were, but there was something heartfelt in how they pressed the side of their heads to each others', how tightly Tim's hands grasped the back of Bruce's turtleneck. And then it was over as fast as it had begun, with Tim mumbling something about a shower before disappearing out of the room. 

Bruce waited for them to be alone before he sank back into his seat, clearing his throat and blinking a few times as well. "I'm assuming Alfred is the new cat?"

Clark eyed his partner, but decided that a tender smile was all the communication Bruce could handle about that hug for now. "How'd you-" Bruce plucked a white cat hair off Clark's pants, holding it up for him to observe. "Oh. Yeah. Mostly Damian and Tim's cat. He's part Maine Coon and a wonderful little ball of fur. Probably hiding around here somewhere. He's been a big help, when it comes to bringing the two of them closer together, in their own strange way." 

Bruce smiled at him, dropping the hair to entertwine their hands. "Who named him Alfred?"

"Damian," Clark grinned right back. "It was adorable. He wouldn't look anybody in the eye as he said it, but I swear Alfred would've shed a tear if he did."

"Mm. Yes. It seems you've managed to make them get along better without me here," Bruce said, a complicated look on his face. 

"Oh, god," Clark said, huffing out a laugh. "You have _no_ idea how long it's taken me. Dick and Tim kept yelling at each other. Damian was going to _leave_ , and Alfred was so heartbroken it was hard to meet his eyes, and Jason, _Jason_ of all people wanted to be Batman, and then that was a whole thing with Dick and Jason, and if Tim was spiraling _before_ you disappeared he was digging through rock bottom now, and there just kept being tiff after _tiff_ , and I-"

"Kal. Slow down," Bruce murmured, his soothing baritone and the hand sliding up his arm enough to make Clark suck in a breath too fast and hiccup on it. He had no clue when his rambling had turned into tears, but all of a sudden it felt like all the grief he'd held inside of him in the last few months, the stress, the anxiety, all of it came crashing down on him like metric tons of rubble. He couldn't keep the next sob in, or the next one after that, and before he knew it, he was bawling his eyes out. 

For the first time in months, Clark found himself wrapped up in strong arms, rough hands stroking his cheek as he cried his heart out, suddenly more exhausted than he'd been in months and only being held up by Bruce's calming voice. The two of them slid off their chairs and onto the floor, where Bruce could pepper kisses and reassurances on his face and cradle him close without pesky armrests in the way. 

"It's alright," Bruce said, wiping away a tear that had made it all the way down to his jaw. "It's okay, Kal. You're okay." Despite the soothing tone, his eyes were intense on Clark's, his steel blue boring its way to his innards and baring his soul. "You did good. You did _amazing_. I'm here now."

Clark sniffled. "'M sorry. I'm the one who's supposed to be comforting and supporting you." Bruce handed him a tissue from the dispenser on the table, and he blew his nose, feeling icky and relieved and like a thousand weights had been lifted off his shoulders. 

Bruce watched him intently, and shifted a bit so he could wrap an arm around Clark's back, humming. "I think you've done your part of supporting, for now. I was just surprised by how well they seem to be getting along now. Trust me when I say I'll never doubt your ability to persevere again."

Clark laughed, a wobbly one, and Bruce kissed his temple, his nose lingering in Clark's hair. "I always trust you to trust me. And you- you're one to talk. You've been time travelling for months."

"That's been taxing in a different way, I assure you. I didn't have to bring any of our kids with me," Bruce joked, and Clark snuffled into his partner's shirt, feeling silly and comforted at the same time. Bruce ran a hair through Clark's hair, pressing a loving kiss to the top of his head. "I didn't mean that you haven't struggled. I can just tell you've been doing good for them. I don't want to think about what would've happened if you weren't here for them."

Clark couldn't answer that, felt shame crawling up his throat at the thought of Bruce thinking he was that strong, hadn't faltered for _months_ before he got his butt in gear to help their kids. Instead, he just nodded, wiped his face again, and nudged Bruce's nose with his. He was rewarded with a kiss, and another, and another, and yes, this was _way_ better. He understood with blinding clarity, for probably the first time in his life, why Bruce liked to not talk about things. 

"We are not lying down on this floor. I'm too old for lying down floor make-outs. Some of us have aged since turning twenty-five," Bruce complained between breathy kisses, but let himself be slid down onto his back. _Easy-peasy_ , Clark thought to himself with a smile.

"Who said anything about making out? You're quite presumptuous, Mr. Wayne," Clark said haughtily, in an attempt to lighten the mood, distract them both. 

Instead of being amused though, Bruce frowned. "You don't want to make out with me?"

Clark gaped down at his partner. "What? You _just_ said you weren't going to make out with me on the floor!"

"Well, I'd suffer through the potential pain for you, darling, all you would have to do was ask. I'm surprisingly easy for you, Clark," Bruce said indignantly.

Clark beamed down at his frowny partner. "I know." He nudged his hand to bring attention to the fact that he was already cracled in the easy vee of Bruce's hips, kneading the firm muscle of his thigh easily, stroking a thumb over the curve of Bruce's jaw. Their bodies were mere, aching inches from touching. 

"Well, damn," Bruce said, seemingly _surprised_ by this when Clark leaned down for another kiss. Clark was a bit offended, honestly. Like he couldn't entice his partner to a floor make-out session when their kids were out? Come on. He knows exactly what makes Bruce tick. 

"Yeah," he agreed, running his hands up Bruce's sides and pressing kisses to his neck. "I'm liking this beard you've got going on. I don't think I've seen you in anything more than stubble, though I know your dad had a mustasche."

"Too recognizable," Bruce said regretfully, as Clark enjoyed the rasp of it against his cheek. "Or I'd keep it for you."

"Too recognizable for what?" Clark snorted, and decided to bite the bullet on another unpleasant topic. "If you're not slapping the cowl back on immediately anyways, who says you gotta shave at all?"

Bruce hummed as Clark nuzzled under his jaw, his fingers pressing into the divots where Clark's head connected to his neck. "Did you see Dick's face? I thought he was going to start freaking out right then and there if I told him to sit tonight out. And travelling through time is... tiring. We'll talk about Batman tomorrow."

"Uh huh. And have you figured out what you're gonna say when you do?" Clark asked, carding his hand through Bruce's soft hair, watching his partner's thoughtful eyes as they flittered over Clark's face. 

"No. I'll figure it out. Don't worry about it. Now, shut up and kiss me." 

Clark laughed, and was too delighted by Bruce's impatience to react, so he really should've expected Bruce rolling them over in a neat, swift move only a second later. Instead, it punched the breath out of him, and Bruce stole whatever was left with his next, searing kiss. 

It was like resurrection, like suturing up a wound, so good it _hurt_. Just to be close to Bruce again, to hold him in his arms, to feel his calloused hands skimming over the skin on his sides, the hot inside of his mouth. But despite that, neither of them moved to get any clothes off, just basking in each other's presence. It was still too raw, too strange. It was mostly just for comfort, for reassurance that they were back together, back where they belonged. 

They should know better than to leave the door unlocked. It's been a while for both of them, though. Can't blame them for forgetting. 

Way too soon, Alfred cleared his throat, and both of them startled, looking over at where he was standing in the doorway, respectfully averting his eyes to the ceiling, though it also seemed to be because he found the situation amusing, going by the little smirky twist to his lips. "This is not the most compromising position I've ever found you in, my masters. I'm very pleased you're reacquainting. May I however suggest a cup of warm milk and then heading to bed? It's been a long and tiring day for us all."

"You just wish you could tell me it's bedtime and that if I'm not brushing my teeth in three minutes I'm not allowed to read for a week, don't you?" Bruce grumbled, but Alfred let slip a little snort of laughter, making Bruce's lips twitch too. 

"Oh, yes, Master Bruce. I dearly miss telling you to go to bed and you actually listening to me," he snarked, and Clark tapped the back of Bruce's thigh, making him sigh. 

"Fine," Bruce groused, rolling off of Clark and popping to his feet smoothly, so he could give Clark a hand up. He didn't let go once they were standing, instead striding past Alfred with purpose towards the kitchen. "Who's on monitor duty?"

"That would be me, Sir," Alfred said, interlocking his hands behind his back. "Not to worry. The lads are in good hands."

"Alright. Good luck and good night, Alfred," Bruce said.

Alfred bowed his head once. "Good night, Sirs. There's more milk in the garage if you run out." 

"Thanks, Al. G'night!" Clark called as Bruce dragged him down the stairs. The last thing he saw of Alfred was the butler's smiling eyes before the staircase blocked even that. 

\---


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we start the emotional conversations part of the come down, hehe. Of course, interspersed with Clark and Bruce mackin on each other, as all things should be, hehe.   
> Enjoy! <3

They took Alfred's advice, at least, although they lay awake and wrapped around each other for a while. It _had_ been an exhausting day, though, and they both fell asleep pretty fast once they closed their eyes. For the first time in what felt like ages, Clark had pleasant, relaxing dreams. When he felt the rising of the sun, he even shifted to face it in his sleep.

When he finally really stirred a few hours later, he awoke to the prickling feeling of someone staring at his face. He blinked his eyes open to find Bruce watching him intently, those steel blue eyes pinned to somewhere around his cheekbones. 

"Y'know people think you're creepy when you stare," Clark mumbled, curling towards his partner and sliding a hand over his waist to draw him closer.

"You're not 'people'," Bruce rumbled, his voice morning-tired, though Clark doubted he'd been asleep very long in the first place. Bruce was bad at sleeping for more than a few hours at a time, especially after stressful situations. Him being gone for months, lost in time, certainly counted as a stressful situation. 

"No, I'm not," Clark agreed, pressing a gentle good morning kiss to Bruce's lips. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long," Bruce said, but the way his hand slid through Clark's hair, scratching at his scalp, suggested that wasn't the truth. Bruce was not in the habit of initating morning shenanigans unless he'd been awake for quite some time. 

"No? Liar liar," Clark hummed, resting his fingers in the dips of the three parallell scars on Bruce's right shoulder blade, slotting into place there like they fit together, not unlike pieces of a puzzle. "You seem like you've been awake a while. Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Some," Bruce hedged. "I popped up a few times to check on the kids. I just... don't want to fall asleep and go back."

Clark closed his eyes for a second to gather strength. Still, he could feel Bruce's burning gaze on him, anchoring him in the moment. "I don't want you to go back either." 

Bruce hummed, and kissed Clark's forehead, breathing into his hair. The action sent goosebumps all over Clark's body. It was really ridiculous how such a simple touch of Bruce's could make him feel electrified. After months of being alone, it felt amplified, like all he'd been doing was gathering energy, the kind that was only released when Bruce was there, skin to skin with him. 

"How did you really manage without me, Kal?" Bruce asked softly, but the look in his eyes suggested that he knew exactly how bad it had been. Had probably heard from Alfred, or Dick sometime during the night. Those two did like to toe the line a lot, when it came to what was appropriate. 

"Not... not very good," he admitted, trailing his fingertips down Bruce's side.

"Only half as bad as I would be without you," he promised. "I'm sorry I left you. Next time, I promise I'm taking you with me."

Clark chuckled, feeling the tears gathering in his eyes at Bruce's sincere look. "That's ominous."

Bruce planted gentle kisses to his eyelids, stopping the tears from escaping, and brushing a last kiss to Clark's lips. "Yes. I've been told it's a habit of mine to be ominous."

Clark laughed for real this time, and let himself be rolled over onto his back as Bruce pressed insistent kisses to his chin, his neck. His hands roamed up Clark's sides, his calloused fingers digging into every space between his ribs, thumbs brushing against the tender, ticklish flesh right around his hip bones. "I love you," Clark whispered, suddenly filled to the brim with the feeling.

Bruce froze, drew in a shaky breath. He raised his head to meet Clark's eyes again, and this time, his usually so carefully controlled composure was shattered, his jaw clenched and his eyes so expressively blown open with love, heartbreak and desire. He cupped Clark's face in his hands. "Never thought I'd get to hear you say that again," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Never thought I'd get the chance to say it to you again. Clark. Kal. _I love you_." 

He pressed their foreheads together, and Clark squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms tightly around his partner, his other half. He felt Bruce's hot, laboured breath on his cheek, and for a moment, had to stop himself from crushing Bruce to his chest, wary of his strength for a moment. 

"Dick told me you were missing for almost three months out of the nine months I was gone. That your stupid fortress _hid_ you," Bruce grumbled. 

Clark snorted. "Why do you guys hate my fortress so much? It's a good fortress," he complained. 

"Jor-El is a constant pain in my ass," Bruce said, annoyed. "You'd think such a brilliant AI would understand to give continuous updates about your whereabouts instead of just waiting until you were in panic mode to contact us."

"Trouble with the in-laws?" Clark teased, making Bruce roll his eyes dramatically. 

"Always, Clark, always. Your Ma thinks I'm a big city slicker who stole her innocent Kansas farm-boy from her, and Jor-El thinks I'm a snooty know-it-all who can't birth you heirs."

Clark guawfed, twitching as Bruce's fingers tickled his sides. "Oh shut up, you know Ma loves you, big city boy and all. And Jor-El admires your knowledge and skills. Though I agree, he does think you don't have the birthing hips needed for Kryptonian babies' heads."

Bruce grinned, sharp as a wolf, and rolled his hips meaningfully, making Clark suck in a startled breath. "Very presumptuous of Jor-El to assume I'd be the one lugging around your giant-headed baby. Like I'd give up this physique. Besides, we have enough kids as it is. The fact that I heard Jason curse in Kryptonian during last night's patrol suggests you've passed on aspects of your culture, even if Jor-El is a purist and wants more biological grandchildren. Again, _stupid_ fortress." 

"Oh so _now_ we have enough kids, do we?" Clark grinned. "Interesting."

"I think we'd all be a bit saner if we'd stopped at one," Bruce contemplated. His smile dimmed as he traced the dimple in Clark's cheek. "Speaking of the one. You know what else he told me?"

Clark pursed his lips. "I don't know. Do I want to know?"

"Dick told me that you've only recently been reinstated at the JL as a semi-active member," Bruce murmured into his jaw, and Clark tried to swallow his shame at being such a failure of a parent, of a superhero. However, the lump in his throat just kept building out of his control. "Which explains why you've never been on a mission with him. Never even been on patrol with him."

"I've been busy. And, I've also been told to stay out of Gotham business our entire relationship," Clark pointed out, only deflecting a little. "Didn't see why it should suddenly become my business when you were gone." 

"You also made Dick be Batman, instead of Jason or Tim. I'd say that's being up in Gotham's business," Bruce said, rising up onto his elbows over Clark again, effectively trapping him with a look. "A wise choice, though I'm sure Dick had strong opinions on it. If he didn't, I honestly don't understand what those years of fighting we had were even about." He had a twinkle in his eyes as he said it, but Clark found himself wincing anyway.

"Why aren't you angry?" he whispered. "I abandoned our kids. My job. The JL. Everything." 

Bruce hummed. "The only one who wasn't a legal adult at the time was Damian, and he threatened to kill you regularly and hated your guts. Dick was better equipped to handle that at the time than you were. I don't want to know what you would've let him do if you'd been hanging around here in that state." Bruce brushed a strand of hair off Clark's forehead, a contemplative look on his face. "On the other hand, I'm... upset that you couldn't find comfort in the family we built, and comfort them. I'm not angry. While I'm sure they would've liked to have you here, if you weren't even yourself, I don't see how you would've been able to help them, anyway."

"And you're not... mad about that?"

"About the fact that you love me enough to lose yourself in the universe without me?" Bruce said mildly. "I'm mad about that. Mad at _myself_. I knew I was taking a risk when we got involved in the first place, but I thought that as long as we were both benefiting from it, what could be the harm. I suppose I also just thought I had more time, though that was a silly thought to have. The usual hubris."

"Not so silly, since you're here now. And it's _very_ like you to make this about your choices, instead of our choices," Clark pointed out, poking Bruce in the chest. "This is a partnership, Bruce. Whatever stupid decisions we make, we make together."

"Agreed," Bruce said, tilting his head. "Whatever mistakes you made in the beginning, you've made up for them now. All four kids are talking to each other, they don't hate each others' guts, they do things together without being forced to... You mended our family with your own two hands. And for that, I will be forever grateful." He kissed Clark's forehead gently, and Clark relished in the touch, his eyes fluttering open again as Bruce leaned back. 

"Now all you have to do is help me with the finishing touches," he smiled.

Bruce chewed on his lower lip, dipping his head so he could rest his forehead against Clark's heart. "Swear you won't let me make it worse?" he asked softly.

Clark grabbed Bruce's head and pulled him back up so he could kiss him silly. "Of course," Clark whispered. "Don't worry about it, Bruce. We'll figure it out together."

"Mm," Bruce agreed, pulling the sheets over their heads, much to Clark's amusement. "You're very warm."

"Is it making you sleepy?" Clark snorted, straightening his legs out so he could tangle them with his partner's, and rubbing firm hands down Bruce's back, feeling the muscles there relax. Bruce hummed, closing his eyes. "Gonna nap on me?"

Clark grunted as he recieved a poke in the side. "If you stop talking."

He chuckled, pressing one last kiss to Bruce's hair, before laying his head back and listening as Bruce's heartbeat slowed down. The gentle thumping filling his ears let him relax too. 

\--- 

Diana called, and insisted she join them for lunch, to 'check up on them', she claimed. Clark was pretty sure she just wanted to make sure they hadn't had a relapse and killed each other during the night, but also to check up on if Bruce had had the emotional conversations she thought he should. Clark appreciated the thought, but really, Clark felt that he was kind of the emotional expert on his bats, and forcing them to talk because that's what _you_ wanted them to do was... rarely a good idea. Something he'd been reminded of recently.

It was a nice early spring day outside today, one of the few days there was sun in Gotham, so they'd moved outside mid-lunch to catch the first rays. Now, after lunch, Ace bolted between Jason and Damian on the lawn with a ball clutched in her jaws, and Clark watched them from the kitchen window with a smile. Tim and Dick were still asleep, and Alfred was resting his eyes a bit, seeing as lunch was served and he had been up most of the night. That left Clark to provide some hot drinks, but he didn't mind one bit. He was actually a little surprised Alfred had let him wrestle this duty from him. 

All he could see when he began pulling down the cups he'd need was the back of Diana and Bruce's heads as they sat by the elegant white metal table on the patio, enjoying the spring sun. When Diana turned assessing eyes on Bruce, Clark couldn't stop himself from listening through the window. Really, if she'd wanted to keep this conversation private, she shouldn't be doing it only a few yards from someone with superhearing.

"It is good to see the light return to Kal's eyes," Diana began, her voice warm but pointed. Bruce hummed in return but seemed happy to leave it at that. Diana, however, was not. "He was devastated when you were presumed dead, Bruce. Crushed. He was gone for almost three and a half months, where we couldn't find him. I still don't think _he_ knows where he was in the beginning. That kind of grief... it can be hard to come back from." Bruce didn't seem to react to that either, at least not in the way Diana was looking for. "Can I be frank with you?"

"Will me saying 'no' actually stop you?" Bruce questioned, his tone mild. Diana ignored this, proving his point. 

"You should see to it that he's better prepared, when the time really comes. For all that you say you've planned for every opportunity, the moment you disappeared, your family fell in disarray. You did not leave them with the kind of protection and reassurance I had assumed you would."

"They can take care of themselves," Bruce said. 

"Yes. And no," Diana murmured, almost to herself, before shaking her head, as if to clear her thoughts. "Kal isn't even in your will."

"How would you know anything about my will?" Bruce asked, his tone indicating that he was losing his patience. 

"Because when you were assumed dead and your husband disappeared Hera knows where, your eldest turned to me. I was sorry I could not drop everything to help as he might have needed, but I did what I could to assist, looking for Kal, and keeping an eye out for the Red Hood. You did not leave them with enough help, enough assistance. Grief is a powerful force, and it tore your family to shreds when it came. I thought, if _anyone_ , you would know that."

"We're not married," Bruce pointed out. Clark rolled his eyes a bit, as if _that_ was what Diana wanted him to take from that whole tirade. He placed their filled mugs on the tray, and began the trek outside again, eyeing them through the wall as he went. 

Diana whapped Bruce in the head, or at least tried to. Bruce dodged before she could make contact. "Yes. _Fix_ that, you fool. You cannot honestly think he will deny your request for his hand. You have children together, are partners in everything but in legal matrimony. No matter your insecurities, you cannot doubt Kal's love and fidelity. I will marry the two of you myself if I have to."

"Interesting offer," Bruce said, his voice the deadpan one he used to deflect and be intentionally dense. "But I'm strictly monogamus, and I don't think I like the thought of you getting your hands on my partner."

Diana reached her hand up to whack him again, but Clark hurried out to shove his hand in the way before she could, making the cups rattle in his arms. Instead, they ended up doing an awkward kind of high-five, and Clark put the tray down on the table firmly.

"Hey, no bruisin' my peach," he exclaimed, brushing his fingers over Bruce's cheekbone when the man turned to face him. 

"Peach?" Bruce asked, in that wonderfully warm, amused tone of his. 

"Yes, darlin'?" Clark replied with a little smile. Bruce rolled his eyes but drew him closer, his breath ghosting over Clark's ear, and he tried to suppress his shudder. 

"You've become such an eavesdropper," Bruce murmured, his voice curious, like it was a new mystery for him to solve. "What's that about?"

Clark had forgotten what it was like to be observed by his partner so constantly. "I'll tell you later," he promised, sitting down. "Jason, Damian, tea!" he called into the garden in front of them.

A few moments later, the three of them appeared, with Ace going to her water-bowl on the patio immediately. Bruce watched her while sipping his tea. "You gotta be careful with our girl," he said, to either Jason or Damian. "She's getting older. Can't be running around too much."

"I know," Jason snapped. Diana's eyebrow twitched, and Damian's eyes flickered between Bruce and Jason nervously, before landing on Clark. It was cute to feel his demanding glare, and Clark placed a soothing hand on Bruce's thigh. Bruce and Jason looked at each other, until Jason's ears turned red, and he picked up his mug of coffee, pointedly not looking at Bruce. 

Bruce paused, seeming to consider how to navigate this mine field. "Good," he finally ended up on, grabbing a cookie, looking away.

Again, Damian shot Clark a look, but this time it was quizzical. Diana, too, seemed to look to him for answers. Clark just hummed. "How was your run earlier, kids?"

"It was fine," Damian grumbled. 

"Tell him about the toad we saw," Jason said, nudging Damian with an elbow and grinning down at him.  
Damian rolled his eyes, like the little drama queen he was. "Yes, Todd got quite excited when we saw a-"

"A big, fat, toad, pops! It was the size of little snot-face's head," Jason interrupted, placing his hand over Damian's face to demonstrate. 

"Why would you ask me to tell him if you were going to interrupt me anyways?" Damian snapped, swatting Jason's hand away from himself. 

"You didn't say it with the right pizzazz! Pizzazz is important, right pops?" Jason turned twinkling eyes to Clark, who smiled. 

"Very important," he agreed. "How do you know it wasn't a frog?"

"Because Mister Marine-Biologist here informed me it was a toad," Jason smirked, clearly teasing. 

Damian looked ready to have a coronary. "The study of amphibians isn't called marine biologi!" he raged. 

"Right, it's herpetology," Jason said, tapping his forehead pointedly and winking at Clark, where Damian couldn't see. "Learned that from A Series of Unfortunate Events." 

"That's reptiles," Damian groaned, sinking back in his chair with his tea cup in his hands, to pout at Jason's ignorance. "Just because I can't recall the word doesn't mean it's the one _you_ think it is. I _know_ what it's called." 

"Could the word you're looking for be batrachology?" Bruce said, watching Damian with a new glint in his eyes, like he was seeing him in another light than before.

Damian blinked, and then smugly grinned up at his brother, which was at least a good foot of a distance. "Yes," he agreed. " _See_ , Todd, I told you it wasn't herpetology."

"Jason is partly right," Bruce mused. "Herpetology is the study of reptiles and amphibians. Though I understand why, if you learned the word from the A Series of Unfortunate Events books, you'd think it was just reptiles. If I recall correctly, there was even a whole book about that."

Jason frowned. "You remember those books?"

Bruce hummed thoughtfully, reaching for a biscuit. "I remember a lot of the books we read together."

Now that was a charged statement. Several looks flickered over Jason's face in a millisecond, but the one that finally settled on his face was suspicion. 

"What are these books you speak of?" Damian asked. "Is it an actual series of unfortunate events?"

"Of sorts," Jason said slowly, still eyeing Bruce suspiciously as the other man peacefully chewed on a cookie. "Don't think they're your speed, exactly. Lemony Snicket's writing style would probably drive you nuts. More nuts than you already are, you little nutter."

Diana muffled a chuckle behind the sleeve of her jacket, disguising it as a cough. Clark smiled at her too, and listened to Damian complain that he was smarter than Jason in every aspect and always would be, which Jason contested by repeating the word herpetology on a loop until Damian tried to push him off his chair. 

\--- 

Tim and Dick joined them by the actual tea time, and Diana too seemed to notice how their kids' interaction had improved drastically. Before she left, she hugged Clark tight, whispering reassurances and comfort before letting him go and taking off into the sky. 

Bruce and Clark retreated to the study, where Clark could read while Bruce skimmed JL files and WE stuff and whatever other news he felt he needed updating on. Whenever a question arose, he'd make a small, inquisitive noise in the back of his throat, and Clark would look up, admire his partner's shape in the computer chair, and try to pay attention to whatever he needed more information about. 

They'd been at it for only about an hour when there was a knock on the door. 

Bruce looked up from the computer. "Come in."

Dick opened the door just enough to poke his head into the room. "Hey, Alfred wanted me to give you this?" He waved a little envelope in his hand. 

Bruce blinked. "Oh?"

Dick shrugged. "Yeah."

"Alright. Come in," Bruce said again. This time, Dick opened the door wider, strolling inside and handing him the little envelope. Bruce popped it open with a slit of a finger, and skimmed whatever the content was with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. 

"Hey, how was patrol yesterday? I know you're all in one piece, but was anything a close call? I forgot to ask earlier," Clark said, closing his book and putting it down on Bruce's desk. 

Dick swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Nah, not really. Besides, you only get worried when I tell you about close calls, so I don't know why you keep asking that, when you know I'm not going to tell you anyway."

"I can always ask," Clark protested. "And I don't get _that_ worried." 

"Weeell..." Dick made a see-saw wave of his hand, and grinned impishly at him. "We're good, pops. Really. Even Jason made it home without a single scratch. We were exemplary. Probably a good call to leave Tim at home, though. He was pretty tired."

"So were you, seemingly," Bruce said, looking up from his piece of paper for only a second. "You slept 'til, what, two pm?"

"I've had a lot on my plate recently, alright? Sheesh, when I was little I wasn't sleeping enough, and now it's too much? Tough crowd to please in here," Dick joked. 

"We're your parents, we're allowed to worry," Clark said, standing up to stretch and also pat Dick on the back while he was at it. 

Dick snorted. "Yeah, alright. Well, that's all I was sent up for. Now I gotta scrounge up a snack before dinner."

"You'll just ruin your apetite," Clark protested, eyeing his partner pointedly. Bruce, just as pointedly, stared at his paper. Using his x-ray vision, Clark noted that the paper was blank. So Alfred planned this, did he? Well, Clark could give a helping hand. 

"It's fine, I didn't have breakfast anyway," Dick shrugged. 

"Have you heard anything so preposterous before? Bruce," Clark said, his voice ripe with meaning. He hadn't noticed how much he liked forming his mouth around that name until he no longer could. He takes great pleasure in saying it now. "Didn't you have something you wanted to say to Dick? That thing you told me earlier?"

Bruce finally looked up from his letter to shot him an exasperated look. "I was going to."

"Uh huh. Go ahead," he said and crossed his arms, not the least bit convinced. Bruce is a lot of things. Emotionally constipated is pretty high up on the list. Sometimes he needs a little nudge, and Clark and Alfred are all too happy to give it. 

Dick gave them both a weird look, but then Bruce cleared his throat and stood up, walking around the desk so he could place a hand on Dick's shoulder. "I am... very proud of how you handled this complicated situation. You did the best you could, and the way Damian has improved under your mentoring is... astounding. You obviously give him something I didn't understand he needed. And I know you didn't want to be Batman. But you still stepped up and did it. Thank you. You are a good hero. And a good son." He nodded to himself, like he had said his piece. 

"I- Thanks, dad," Dick said, blinking fast, his voice surprisingly quiet. "It, um. It means a lot to hear you say that."

Bruce smiled at him, the small but genuine one. "That said, you have something that belongs to me." He waved a hand at the two chairs in front of the desk, and Dick sat down with a roll of his eyes. 

"Oh, so we're done saying thanks, are we?" he asked, crossing his legs loosely. Bruce sat down in the other chair on this side of the desk, and Clark leaned up against the side of it, nudging some papers out of the way so he could lean his hands back on the desk too. 

"Not quite. I would also like to appreciate the fact that you've kept up with reports after patrol, because it's allowed me to assess the state of Gotham, now that I'm a bit more caught up. It also shines a light on how Damian's been doing as Robin, which has been... illuminating."

"Stop before you give yourself some sort of allergic reaction to all that gratitude you're spewing," Dick joked, but his eyes turned sharp and assessing when Bruce mentioned their youngest. "You're going to keep him as Robin, right?"

Bruce nodded, once. "I was waiting until he seemed more up to the task, and then I would ask Tim to step down, but you seem to have taken care of that for me." He tilted his head. "Maybe not the best way to go about it, but there was always going to be resentment."

"Tell me about it," Dick muttered. "And you're ready to work with Damian as Robin? Because he's... not like Tim. It's more like with Jason, and you are way out of practice when it comes to dealing with that."

"Yes. He might just have to step up his game a bit to keep up with me," Bruce said, humor in his eyes, but his voice blank of any inflection. 

Dick licked his lips nervously, his eyes flickering up to Clark like he was gathering support. Clark nodded minutely. "Okay. But. You can't- you can't talk to him like that."

"Like what?" Bruce asked, but Clark knew exactly what Dick was talking about, heard how sharp Bruce's tone was, baffled and uncomfortable with being ordered to do anything, ever. 

"Like _that_ ," Dick pressed. "Listen, the reason you and Damian rub each other the wrong way all the time is because you're very similar. Neither of you like someone bossing you around, you don't like it when people get up close and personal with you, and you're both ten seconds away from throwing a fist on a bad day. It's- you can't treat him like how you treated us. Not that- that I think you treated us badly. Because you didn't, exactly. Just, your kind of child raising is... a little dependent on the kid having a lot of humor and a bit of emotional armor. Damian doesn't _have_ that. He listened to a shadowy authority like the league because he trusted it to be deceitful and sketchy and to protect him, and he doesn't trust you because you're just- some _guy_. His father, yeah, but just one guy, who hasn't proven anything to him. And while he's funny in his own, special, damaged way, he doesn't have- the armor part."

Bruce paused, seemed to consider how to answer this. "I doubt he'd survive long in a household with Talia without some emotional armor," he pointed out carefully, not up to treading on Dick's toes at the moment. 

Dick waved a hand around, struggling to put it into words. Clark took a chance. "It's more about his reactions to emotions. Right? That's what you mean? He doesn't grasp a lot of emotional concepts, so he doesn't know what to do when they're right in front of him. Pelt him with some tears and he'd crumble like a wet paper. His emotional armor is practically nonexistent."

Dick hummed, tilting his head from side to side. "Yeah, more like that. Tim was already a bit of a tin man when we got him, and Jason was... different. Heart on his sleeve all day, all the time, and ready to fight about it, y'know? And I mean, I was raised around very crude people, in the public eye. You learn fast, then. Damian just- doesn't know what you mean, or what you want from him, and he doesn't _trust_ you, so when you do pretty much anything, that's- a threat."

"A threat," Bruce repeated neutrally, though Clark could see it hurt him. 

"It's pretty much all he's ever known from family. The League protected him because he was the heir, and he doesn't have that reassurance here. And Talia was goddamn brainwashing him. Saying he was being groomed to take over Batman from you, that that's what he was _made_ for. That with the legacy of the league and the legacy of Batman, he was going to be the greatest in the world. And when you kept slapping that down, he just- doesn't know what he's even here for. We've been trying to get him to feel safer here, more at home, and I think it's working, but I don't know if that stretches to _you_ yet. As you've probably noticed, he likes having Jason and both Alfreds around now. He doesn't even hate Tim anymore." 

"Or Clark," Bruce tossed in consideringly, leaning an elbow on his armrest and resting his chin in his palm as his eyes went distant, reflecting on this new information.

Dick nodded, clasping his hands in front of him, between his spread knees. "Or Clark." 

Clark blinked, gaping at Dick. "He _doesn't_?" 

Dick turned a beaming smile at him. "He doesn't. It's pretty sweet actually. He even calls you Kal now, though I don't know if he does it to your face. And he thinks you make tea better than Alfred."

Clark had to press a hand to his chest so he wouldn't just keel over with happiness. "Really? But I thought..."

Dick shrugged. "We went through a bunch of old photo-albums from when I was little because he 'wanted proof' you'd been here since the beginning." Dick made little air-quotes without unclasping his hands. "And then he asked why you left the moment you saw him the first time, and I explained that you guys were having a bit of a rough patch right when he arrived and that you hate _Talia_ , not him, and after that, it's seemed like he's just been... feeling less and less hostile. I think he was hating you a lot because he thought you hated _him_ and was only being nice to him so he'd let his guard down. And anyways, he pretty much only expresses affection to his cat. And occasionally me, and Al. Everybody else, he's just rude to, and that's him being affectionate." Dick rolled his eyes with a smile. "Really, pop. He doesn't hate you." 

Clark felt like he was ready to cry. Honestly, he should've considered that. Damian was _ten_. For all that he was very smart, he was also just a child from a broken, abusive home. This was certainly a big step on the way for them to get to a better place with each other. "That's great, Kal," Bruce murmured, placing a hand on Clark's leg and squeezing.

"Yeah. The point is though, that the league made him feel, if not safe, then at least protected. We're trying our best to make him feel safe and protected as well. I'm just not sure he can handle the full force of you being you, and his dad, or his Batman," Dick said while waving a hand to indicate all of Bruce. 

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, well. The force of my personality can be a lot, as I've been told. If he doesn't wish to be Robin with me as Batman, that's his prerogative. It came to my attention after your late teens that trying to push any legacy on my kids was a bad move," Bruce said, a grim smile twisting his lips. 

Dick's mouth moved the same way when he made that exact face back, and Clark was thrown back to stepping into a sitting room in the manor for the first time, not being able to tell if the boy curled in the chair was a copy of Bruce or if it was just coincidence. It was like Jason popping his wrist, like Dick's roll of his shoulders to get the cape to fall forward, Damian tapping his fingers against the arm of a chair, Tim blinking up at him from where he was knee-deep in files about criminals. Yeah, they were Clark's kids, but they were also Bruce's kids, _their_ kids. Clark was delighted of the reminder, as he watched Bruce and Dick shift their weight in sync, how they were mirror reflections of each other sometimes.

"It tends to make cohabitation a teensy bit harder," Dick agreed, still with that little gloomy grin. Yes, it had been hard years on all of them. 

Bruce sighed deeply. "I didn't want for this to happen. I don't want any of you kids to have to take on the legacy of the Batman. It's... a heavy cape to carry around your necks, and we feel that it's for the best for you kids to make your own decisions, however stupid they may occasionally be." Without thinking about it, Bruce squeezed Clark's knee again, stroking a thumb over the inside as he contemplated.

"I've already told Damian this," Clark pointed out. "That what we want is for our kids to make their own way in the world. I think he'd take it a bit more seriously coming from you, though." He bounced the knee Bruce was squeezing, snapping his partner out of his thoughts. "I told him he could tell you to screw off if you asked him about WE."

Bruce let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. "Yes, I'm very used to that particular reply." 

Dick rolled his eyes good-naturedly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I agree with pop, that he needs to hear it from you. I think he likes being Robin a lot, though." The little smile on his face was every bit as proud as a father's, and Clark wondered if Dick would ever be able to think of himself as just Damian's big brother again. It made him as sad as it made him happy, delighted that Dick loved so much and distraught that they had to tear it away from him. 

"I've never met someone who doesn't," Bruce agreed, his voice tender as he gazed at Dick, his eyes just as soft, though Dick didn't seem to notice. "It's a good legacy to pass down. A very worthy one." He tapped his other fingers against the armrest in thought, before nodding sharply. "We'll follow Damian's lead on this one. It's Robin or no vigilanteing, though. I know he's changed a lot in this time, but I won't allow him to throw away a good thing just because he doesn't like me." 

"It's alright, B," Dick soothed. "You'll get along in no time. How long do you want me to keep up the caper?"

Bruce snorted at Dick's excited grin at the pun. "Well, I assume my partner thinks I should take some rest?" He turned his loving eyes on Clark, who beamed back. 

"You read my mind, honey. That's pretty impressive of you."

"I'm very impressive," Bruce agreed, making Clark let out a delighted chuckle. 

"If you're just going to flirt, I think I'll leave," Dick said, wrinkling his nose theatrically. 

Bruce hummed, turning his head back to Dick, but his eyes lingering on Clark until the last second. "How about a week? For me to get my feet under me. And for you to prepare, as well. I think I understand more than anyone how much you miss your old suit." Bruce and Dick shared a look, so intense and filled with such grave understanding that Clark honestly wondered if they'd forgotten he was even in the room with them. It was always a little odd to remember that this was the original Batman and Robin, that they had once set the standard for sidekick and superhero, that there was a reason they had once been called the Dynamic Duo. 

There was a lot of understanding in that gaze they shared, and a lot of trust. A little bit of bitterness, too, but mostly it was grudging love, the same kind of communication brothers in arms achieved after so long fighting at each other's side. Clark thought back to his theory that losing your parents young made your eyes deeper, more piercing, and he'd never been more convinced than now, when he watched Bruce and Dick communicate with just their eyes. It was _sorry_ , it was _thank you for making me who I am_ , it was years of a tangled relationship unwound for just a moment. 

Bruce and Dick looked away from each other at the same time. 

It hit Clark like a brick sometimes, the fact that there was only about fourteen years between Bruce and Dick. That they'd been practically kids themselves when they took him in, still had a bunch of growing up to do at that time. And that they'd still managed to help Dick be the wonderful young man he was today baffled him. He knew it bewildered Bruce to no end, all the time. 

After a moment, Dick nodded to himself, and stood up. Swept up in his emotions, Clark wrapped an arm around him and smooched him on the cheek, feeling the tickling of his hair against his face. "You're a good boy, Dick Grayson. Don't you ever forget it," he said softly. 

"I got lucky," Dick agreed with a small, but genuine smile. Clark planted another one on his cheek before he let him go. 

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, but Clark was pretty sure he'd just forgotten to add the _so did we_ part out loud.

"Don't eat anything before dinner," Clark reminded him, as Dick began to move for the door. 

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, and, by the way, you're gonna have to deal with Jason sometime soon," Dick pointed out in a sing-song, turning around so he could see when Bruce sighed as he stood up. 

"Yeah, yeah. Don't remind me. You've troubled me enough today," Bruce said, his eyes glinting with humor. "Now, leave my office."

Dick laughed, dashing forward again, just to squeeze an arm around Bruce's neck in a half-hug, and then he took off, opening the door and almost tripping over Ace with a chuckle. "Ace, girlie, you have got to stop getting in my way. One of these days, I'm not going to catch myself, and you're gonna get hurt!"

Ace ignored his griping to get to Bruce and demand pets. "Go get some water, Dick. No snacking before dinner. We're eating in an hour, for gods sake," Bruce said as he scratched Ace's greying muzzle. 

"Geeze, dad, fine!" Dick exclaimed, and used his hip to slam the door closed, maybe a little harder than he should have.

"God, I'm getting war-flashbacks to his teen years," Clark murmured. Bruce just rolled his eyes at his dramatics, and enjoyed the attention of their needy dog. 

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned into 6,666 words according to my wordcounter, so... do with that what you will lol


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOODNESS gracious, you guys are so sweet!! Thank you for all your kind, wonderful comments. I love that I get to share this with you, and that you wanna read it at all! Honestly, I thought I could make this into like a big ass one shot when I had the idea and now, about a hundred thousand words later (AS GODDAMN USUAL) i'm like oh... oh sweet summer child.   
> Anyways, hope you enjoy! <3

They don't make love again until the next morning, when they're both rested and relaxed, and Bruce worships him like he's rediscovering his favorite place in the world. It's therapeutic, of sorts. It's reconnection, in a way they haven't had in ages. It's probably the most present Clark's felt in his body since Bruce disappeared. They still managed to be out of bed before their kids, but it was a close call, from the look Alfred shot them.

Tim and Jason were the only ones at brunch with them, since Dick and Damian had taken a trip to the mall. Dick had thought it might be a good idea to get Damian out of the house for a while, just the two of them, and nobody had protested. Bruce and Dick, who had the most experience with knowing how to talk to each other after months of silence, had slipped effortlessly back into their own groove, and communicated with looks and eyebrow wiggles again. Therefore Clark wasn't going to try and enforce bonding time with them, like he was going to with the rest of them. It had always been on the verge of tense between the two of them since Dick had turned eighteen, so that they still managed to get along as well as they did now was a delight. Clark was willing to let the two of them find their own comfort zone, at least while Dick still lived under their roof. 

"Do you know when they'll be back?" Tim asked, glancing over at Bruce and then Jason. 

"Dick said they'd be back by tea-time," Clark said, looking at Tim's glass of juice pointedly. 

"Why?" Bruce asked Tim, raising an eyebrow. The young man shrugged and took a sip of the orange juice. 

"Just wondering," he said, perfectly calm. That, for some reason, niggled at Clark. Bruce too seemed a bit suspicious at this, but let it slide to talk Wayne Enterprises business with their boy. 

Clark didn't. 

All throughout the rest of the day, he kept some of his attention on Tim. When Clark helped Alfred fold laundry, he heard Tim take a shower, skim through something on his computer, and call his secretary and Cassie over at YJ headquarters. By the time one of the cars came rumbling up the drive, Clark was settled in the library reading a book. The squeak of Tim's desk chair snapped him to attention, and he listened intently as Tim made his way down towards the garage. 

The engine of the car shut off, and Clark could hear Dick and Damian slamming the doors shut, with Damian continuing whatever discussion they'd had in the car. Then Damian stopped speaking, mid-sentence. Probably because he'd seen Tim standing there.

"Hey Tim. What's up?" Dick asked politely, as the sound of his shoes on the tile stopped. A little too politely. He'd heard Dick say 'hey jackass' to Jason yesterday. There was a certain sort of camaraderie brothers had between them, that Clark had observed between their sons all of their lives. This wasn't it. 

"Can we talk for a minute?" Tim asked, his voice a demand. 

Dick patted something cloth-covered, which Clark assumed was Damian's shoulder. "Sure. Hey, Dames, why don't you go find Alfred, ask if he can get the good cookies for tea time. Oh, and show Jason those new shoes!"

Damian seemed to hesitate. "Pennyworth knows. And Todd will see them tomorrow."

"It's fine, little D. Go show Jase the shoes. We'll be right behind you." 

After another moment of hesitation, Clark could hear the clacking of Damian's fancy little shoes on the tile as they came closer to him, and the creak of the door to the house opening. Only Tim and Dick remained. Clark wondered if he should be getting up or no. 

"Is it really just gonna take a minute?" Dick joked, and Clark heard the click of the metal details on his jeans as they came in contact with the paint job on the car he was leaning on, the creaking of the fabric his jacket was made of as he crossed his arms. 

"Depends," Tim asked. "I've just been thinking, recently."

"Yeah? About what?"

"Well, discussing and thinking, actually. Did you know that Jason seriously made detailed plans on how to kill me, once he realized I'd taken over Robin after him?" 

Clark blinked. Not too out there, considering Jason had been a bit off his rocker still around that time, pit madness and a lack of friends and stability driving him to extreme measures. Clark still remembers how hollow he'd looked, when they'd first discovered he was alive. Yeah, he can believe Jason did that, as upset as it makes him. 

" _Jesus_. I mean, I'm not surprised, really. Just... wow. Little Wing's always been dramatic. He's not much for details, though."

Tim huffed. "Yeah. He showed them to me. I asked him to though, so don't like, get mad. A few of them might have even worked, if he had managed to pull them off without being his usual, unsubtle self."

"Again, concerning, but not surprising. No offense, Tim, but what does this have to do with me?" Dick did sound genuinely interested, at least. 

"Well, while discussing how he would've killed me, Jason also brought up the fact that we all have very different perspectives on death, and because of that, we have very different ways of dealing with it. Bruce wants iron clad control of himself all the time, so he likes being numb when he's dealing with grief. Clark thinks that crying helps. Jason has pointed out that you're a dizzying combination of the two. You like letting your emotions out like Clark does, but you don't like not being in control, like Bruce. So you get _angry_ and numb."

"Cool psychoanalysis," Dick said, but his voice was a little frosty this time around. "What about it?"

"Considering this... Emotional people and numb people make different decisions in a crisis. I was just curious about your thought-process, when you began prioritizing what to do."

"What, prioritizing what to do when Bruce died?" Dick clarified. Tim must have nodded, because he continued. "Shocker, I know, but B had a list. Contact these people, make these arrangements, et cetera. You've never read the Code Black file? I thought, if anyone would have skimmed the Batman's last wishes, it'd be you, what with how much time you've spent in front of the batcomputer."

It was very like Bruce to have an official will and testament, and then to have an unofficial one. Clark was actually a little curious as to how they differed. He'd ask Bruce, but he was sure he'd only try to dodge the question. 

Tim hummed. "No. I read Code Blue a few years ago, though. Not light reading." Code Blue? Clark wondered what that one was. He'd have to check it out, too. 

"Oh. Yeah, that one gave me nightmares for months. A little less orderly than Code Black," Dick huffed. "To answer your question, I followed Bruce's list. And somewhere along that list, there's a point that's... assessing remaining members? Something like that. And I mean... Damian is fricking ten. We were missing Bruce, we were missing Clark. Jason tried to rip me a new one the first time I saw him afterwards, and then he went no-contact. Alfred was barely holding it together. You and I seemed like we were the only ones with our heads on straight, or, y'know, straight enough." 

Tim let out an incredulous laugh. "Right. You and I."

"Yeah. And then I found Damian packing his stuff in his room, and-" Dick cut himself off. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You thought I had my head on straight?" Tim asked. "I mean- I was a mess, Dick. I wasn't too far off taking a long walk off a short pier when Ra's got his claws in me. I was- I was _not_ okay."

The pause in conversation was stunned. Clark, too, was shocked. Long walk off a short pier? He had known it was bad, but _that_ bad? Oh god. "What?"

Tim blew out a breath, collecting his thoughts. "Okay. Jason says I have to- right. You- you've dealt with loss. I know that. But for you it was- it was instant. It was the snapping of ropes and that was... that was all. Not that it wasn't bad! I just- Bruce took you in the _day_ after you lost your parents. I lost my mom when I was six. My dad ten years later. And then Steph, a year after that. Conner and Bart only a few months later. And then Bruce. Like an exponential accumulation of death. It was like- It was holding onto the edge of a building by your fingertips, and someone keeps pulling your fingers off the edge, one by one. It was- It was insanity, Dick. Turning around and being punched in the goddamn face every time. And just when I'm- when I think I've found the way out, when I manage to reach a hand out to the person I think can help, I'm slapped away. By you. By literally the last man standing. The last person I was sure would never do that to me. And you just- told me to get out."

Dick's breath hitched. "I know I-"

"No Dick, you don't!" Tim exploded, cutting him off. "You don't get it! You don't- it was fucking _torture_. For all that Clark blabbers about family, and trust, and being there for each other, _everyone_ bailed on me when it really mattered. Clark was in some sort of fugue state, so he has an excuse in that I couldn't find him to ask him, but _you_ -" Tim's voice cracked in earnest, the sort of embarrasing kind Jason had been enraged by during his early puberty. It was filled with raw emotion, just that one word. "I was not fine, Dick. And all I really wanted was for my big brother to listen to me. And you told me to _get out_. Like I was betraying you by even asking for that."

Dick sniffed. "I'm sorry, Tim. I'm so sorry," he said, his voice quiet and gravelly. "I realized that I screwed up the moment you left the manor. But then you just stopped taking my calls. And when Babs locked down the files, she told me to just talk to you, but you kept telling me to shove off every time I tried, and I had Damian to deal with and you were still _here_. I kept putting it off because you were here, and I could keep an eye on you, but I know it was stupid. I should have-"

"You say you don't want to be Bruce, be compared to him, but that- that right there is pretty much his MO when you've pissed him off, you know," Tim said quietly, but managing to cut him off anyhow. "To trap you until you talk to him. When he did that to you, you dropped out of college and moved towns because it pissed you off so much, Dick. What did you expect me to do?"

There was the rustle of shifting clothing as Dick straightened up. "I don't know, Tim. I fucked up. I should've been there for you, and I wasn't. I hurt you, and that was shitty of me. We were both grieving, and we weren't in a good place to be nice to each other." He seemed to shake his head, his hair swishing against the the fabric at the neck of his jacket. "Just- please stop saying I'm like Bruce."

"But you _are_. So am I. So is Jason, and Damian, to an extent. It's not a bad thing. It's what happens when you're partners for years, or just related to him, apparently. Working together every day, living together... You rub off on each other. He _raised_ you. Of course you're like him. Stop acting like you're ashamed of it."

Dick chuckled, but it was the sad kind, the one that made Clark's heart ache in his chest. "Yeah... I guess it just bothers me so much because it feels like it's always the bad things, y'know? The weird things, the overbearing traits, the kind of shit that made me _hate_ him for a solid year of my life. I don't want to be like that. You know I love the old man, but... he knows exactly how to take you down a few pegs. And it sucks, sometimes." Clark closed his eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat.

"He _knows_ you. That's the point! He pays attention, he listens, even when you don't think he is. I know you've had your differences in the past, but he's still, you know, _Bruce_. He cares. He wants you to do your best, he expects it of you, and nothing less. If he thinks you need to be taken down a peg, there's a reason for it. He's never unnecessarily cruel. Just, wants you to do your best."

"Yeah. He's my _dad_. Your dad too," Dick agreed. "Maybe not the one you were born with, but the one you ended up with. Don't make that face at me! Look, I never meant to make you feel unwanted. This is your family, Tim. Our family. I shouldn't have taken out my anger and grief out on you, and I apologize."

Tim swallowed. "Yeah. Thank you. I'm... sorry too, for doing the same. Jason says I get obsessive when I'm grieving, and when people don't want to be involved, I shut them out like I'm, and I quote, 'the love child of the Iron Curtain and the Great Wall of China'."

Dick snickered. "Jason seems to have been very helpful recently. Not so bad after all, is he, huh?"

"I honestly thought he was stupider than he really is," Tim agreed, and Dick snorted. 

"That's how he gets ya, you know. Our Little Wing is clever," Dick agreed. "That's a good way he's a lot like Bruce. Good at hiding his brains in plain sight." 

Tim seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yeah, I guess. You're a lot like Clark, too, you know. And you still grapple with a left lean, like your mom used to, on the trapeze. We're all just products of nature and nurture, and we respond to stressful situations accordingly." Clark smiled at that. Not only that Tim remembered that, but that they were finally trying to really get over this hurdle together. 

"You remember how my mom swung on the trapeze?" Dick asked, his voice filled with that smile that was so infectuous. 

"Yeah. I went to the circus with my parents, remember? It's how I realized you were Robin in the first place. Your tumble."

"Right," Dick agreed. "I see a lot of Clark in you too, you know."

"What of Clark could you possibly see in me?" Tim asked, his voice curious and incredulous. Thankfully, Dick was there to protest for Clark. 

"Well, for one, the only one I've ever known who could give me such an emotional, well-deserved ass-whooping was Clark, and you emulated that perfectly just a few seconds ago," Dick joked, and from the rustling of fabric, hopefully he'd grabbed Tim's shoulder, or something of the like. "You're as tenacious with a theory as he is with a story, when he was writing more of those. And you both tilt your head the same way when you're about to cheat at cards. It's actually kind of cute. No clue when you would've managed to pick up this particular tic of his, but you sure have."

"That's bull. I don't need to cheat at cards to beat any of you," Tim said, sounding almost like he was joking too. 

Clark almost jerked out of his seat when something squeezed his wrist, and he blinked his eyes open to see Bruce crouching in front of him, a concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"Eavesdropping again, Kal?" he asked, something curious glinting in his eyes. 

"Yeah," Clark agreed, rubbing at his eyes. "Sorry. Spaced out a bit. The kids make me nervous sometimes. They're fine, though." 

Bruce hummed. "I can see why. If I hadn't just heard Damian yelling at Jason that he was an idiot for even suggesting he buy Heelys, I too, would be concerned by the current silence in the house."

Clark smirked. "Does Jason want Heelys?"

"If we bought any kid of ours Heelys and actually expected them to use them, that child would be Tim," Bruce said solemnly, patting Clark's knee. "Jason would get bored with them immediately, Dick wouldn't use them, and Damian..." Bruce actually considered that for a moment, before shaking his head. "He'd slip with them on, and threaten anybody who saw it with violence. Tim would be the only one commited enough to the joke to actually learn to use them without braining himself on the marble floor."

"Alfred would complain about the wheel marks on the carpets," Clark mused, making Bruce's lips twitch into that half-smile he adored. Clark brushed a knuckle over Bruce's cheek, and Bruce caught his palm, pressing a kiss to the center of it. 

"If Heelys even work on carpets, yes. I'm sure Tim would figure it out. Speaking of Alfred, however. He alerted me to the fact that Tim and Dick had a falling out. Is that why you're listening in on them?" Bruce asked, his steely blue eyes understanding and gentle. 

"Yes," Clark admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "I tried to make them sit down and talk it out, and that only lead to them getting madder, so I've tried to let them resolve it on their own, without my interference. I think they made some progress a moment ago, actually."

Bruce hummed. "A bit of a surprise, that it'd be the two of them. If I had to guess which of our kids would get most pissed about getting locked in the manor together, Tim and Dick would not even make top three."

"Right?!" Clark exclaimed, turning Bruce's joking little half-smile into a whole one, with teeth and everything. Clark stroked Bruce's bottom lip with his thumb, smiling back at his partner. "Anyway, yeah. They're working on it. You know, you should really get better at sharing more of yourself with literally anybody who isn't me. Or ten year olds." 

"I try," Bruce protested. "I thought we'd agreed I'm not to be shared. Like fine wine."

"Oh, you shut up, I have never agreed to any such thing," Clark chortled, as Bruce stood up and pulled Clark to his feet, as well. "It just upsets me a little, that Dick thinks he's only inherited your bad traits, when I _know_ that's not even remotely true."

"The traits _he_ thinks are bad, or that I think are bad?" Bruce asked, wrapping an arm around Clark's waist. Suddenly, Clark realized there was music playing softly, from somewhere in the library. 

"He and society, I suppose. Did you seriously dig up the stereo and a Frank Sinatra CD just to dance with me?" he grinned, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder and intertwining their other hands. 

"No. I borrowed your tablet," Bruce said, as the two of them began swaying gently to the rhythm.

"Still. You sap." Bruce kissed him once, firmly, to shut him up, and then rested his forehead against his. Of course, he should know better than to think that just one kiss would succeed in shutting Clark up. Really, what kind of a detective was he? "You're a good dad, Bruce. You know that, right? Our kids would never be who they are today without you."

"I try to remind myself, yes. At least I managed the food, clothes, roof-over-their-head part of parenting pretty well. Kind of hard to do that now, when they don't want to live with me," he joked, and Clark nudged him. 

"Stop that. You taught them incredibly valuable skills, showed them how to care for themselves, gave them a better childhood, and you love them very much. You should maybe just... remind them of that little more, yeah? I know after we lost Jason, you lost yourself a little bit, too. But you opened up so good with Tim. You gave him such good support, support he wasn't getting anywhere else. You've made a lasting difference in all of our kids' lives, and I won't have you laughing that off, Mister Wayne."

Bruce watched him, his gaze intense and deep like he was seeing into Clark's soul for a moment, and then he hummed thoughtfully. "I know. You're... right. We should do a family night soon. Do something fun with the kids. If only they weren't so competitive, we could go to an arcade or something."

Clark threw his head back to laugh, enjoying the glow in Bruce's eyes. "Oh, like they didn't get that all from you! You're the worst of the lot, save Damian, and he's _ten_. He at least has that excuse."

"I was an only child," Bruce pointed out. "I'm used to being the first and the only."

"Yes, yes, I know, as you remind me every time this comes up," Clark grinned. "I was _also_ an only child, and yet..."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "You're competitive too. You're just more subtle about it. Remember when you and Barry went toe to toe around the globe once? That was stupid, but he challenged you, and you couldn't say no."

Clark puffed his cheeks up. "Okay, you know, that's fair. I was also, however, twenty six. And stupid, as previously stated."

Bruce gazed off into the distance over Clark's shoulder, still swaying them. "Mm. I kind of miss that shorter hair on you, though." He focused back in so he could run a gentle hand through Clark's hair, ruffling it a bit. "Didn't get your hair in my mouth nearly as often as I do now."

"I like it longer," Clark grinned. 

"You're almost reaching mullet Dick territory now. It's nice, but again. Hair in my mouth, all the time," Bruce murmured back, eyes reverent as he met Clark's eyes again. "Oh, and you know what else I've missed?"

"Do tell."

"Date night," Bruce replied, squeezing Clark's waist. "The moment we announce to Gotham that I'm back, you're getting into your fancy pants, and we're going to head to that good restaurant, the one with that delectable fish that you liked so much."

"Yeah?" Clark smiled. "Well, now. How can a guy protest such a genuine request for a little wooing?"

"He really shouldn't," Bruce agreed with a little smirk, and Clark chuckled as they continued to twirl around the room in lazy circles, listening to Frank Sinatra's tinny voice coming from the speakers. 

\---

Clark hadn't meant to overhear them, really. He was just looking for a toy that he swore he'd seen Ace chew on last night in the room they'd been watching a movie in. It wasn't his fault the older parts of the manor, the parts that hadn't been remodelled by Bruce's grandfather, still connected room to room. This door in particular connected the sitting room Clark was in, to one of the parlors, the one that housed Thomas Wayne's old chess set. Bruce liked to sit there and think when he had a particularly troublesome case, and Alfred and Damian had spent some time in it during the past few months. 

It shouldn't be a surprise that that's where Damian and Bruce were right now, but Clark honestly hadn't been expecting it. He was just looking for that silly toy for Ace, and then he saw that the door to the parlor was cracked open.

"Another one?" came Bruce's amused voice. 

"Yes," Damian demanded. Clark froze in place, and looked down. He was standing on carpet, and a lot of the floor underneath the wood panelling here was solid rock. Tentatively, he took his feet off the floor. Thankfully, it made no sound, and he held his breath as he continued to listen. 

"Alright. You can be white this time," Bruce agreed. "You play very well, Damian. Who taught you?"

"Grandfather," Damian said, sounding perturbed. "I've never lost to anybody but him." 

Bruce seemed to roll that statement around in his head, like a fine wine being swirled around in a glass. "Alfred let you win, then?"

"I beat Pennyworth easily," Damian said haughtily. 

"Ah. You didn't," Bruce remarked, and Clark could hear the smile in his voice. "Alfred is very keen on letting kids win, no matter their skill level. The first time I actually, _really_ beat him at chess because of my skill, I was maybe fifteen. And I only figured this out because that was the first time he was actually surprised that I won."

"Why would he do that?" Damian asked, baffled. 

"Well, he's nice. And he read up on a lot of children's psychology, when I lost my parents. I was only eight at the time, and I had no other family, so he was the one that took care of me, until I was of an age to inherit everything. It's nice to win, isn't it?"

"It's silly of him," Damian protested. 

"Not really. Winning feels good. I'm sure it just made me more proud and insufferable than I already was at that age, though." Clark stopped himself from snorting, only because he choked down on it. Yes, he'd heard stories. And seen pictures. Adorable, gangly pictures of a fifteen year old Bruce smiling smugly at the camera, at Alfred's insistence. Now that he thought about it, Damian's smug smirk popped up in his mind's eye. The likeness was striking, really. He wondered how Alfred had even managed to look at the chessboard with a smugly smiling Damian on the other side of it, during these past months. 

"We should always be proud," Damian said slowly, a little hesitant. "Todd has told me that Waynes have always been part of Gotham. Built into the very foundation of the city. He wasn't lying about that, I presume?" Clark floated a little closer, until he could see half of Damian's face through the crack in the door. Bruce was just out of sight, with the chess board and his hands being visible to Clark, but nothing else. 

"He was not, no. Our family was part of the families that established Gotham. A lot of the buildings have the Wayne name tied to them, somehow. Parks are named after our ancestors, charities are in our name. A lot of historical sites in Gotham have 'Wayne funded' or something of the like tucked away on their plaques. You just have to go digging for it," Bruce agreed, his patient teacher voice making Clark smile. 

"And yet you don't use this to your advantage? To influence how Gotham is ruled now?" Damian asked, unbridled fascination burning in his eyes. 

"To what advantage would it be? I try to influence where I think it's actually necessary. Where I _can_. It's not like I want to rule Gotham single-handedly, anyway. It'd be incredibly hard to slip away and be Batman, then," Bruce remarked, sounding amused by the very thought. "No, my family name just reminds me that it's my duty to keep Gotham whole. Try to keep it safe. I consider myself in Gotham's service, more than anything else. I want to make my ancestors proud of me, to carry on my family name in my actions. Funding charities, being Batman... It's all part of upholding that legacy that they left behind."

"But then this legacy is still about influence. About power," Damian pointed out. 

Bruce hummed. "A lot of things are about influence, yes. In this particular case, I consider it to be about the power of doing good. If I can use whatever influence I have to do good, then I will." Damian's dark eyebrows furrowed at that, but he didn't reply. The next time Bruce leaned forward to move a pawn, his hand lingered on the piece, as if he was considering something. "Do you mind if I ask you a question, Damian?"

Damian gave him a suspicious look. "No."

"Why'd you choose to stay with me?" Bruce asked, his voice quiet. The question made Clark's breath catch in his chest. "When your mother asked you to pick between us." Damian pursed his lips, but remained quiet, his shoulders rising and falling in a half-shrug, barely visible. His dark stare was pinned to the chess board, so Bruce moved his pawn, releasing the piece on another little square. "Want to know what I think?" 

"Not particularly," Damian stated, accompanied by the firm placement of a chess piece. Clark honestly began considering just leaving the toy, which was bound to crinkle when he picked it up, and coming back for it later. It was just a stupid, soft, red solo cup toy that Jason had bought her. She had other crinkly toys, she didn't need this one right this second. However... if that was the case, then Clark could stick around a few moments longer, right? If Ace wouldn't miss it anyway.

Clark startled guiltily when Bruce spoke again, but didn't move out of the room. "You've been playing against Alfred, I see."

"He taught you how to play, I see," Damian sneered back.

"Yes, he did," Bruce murmured, placing a bishop. "He taught me a lot of things. One of them is to always speak my mind, though I'm sure he regretted that particular teaching, later in life. I'm glad to be back in this time for many reasons. One of the... especially good ones is getting to see you grow up into the brilliant young man I know you're going to be one day."

Damian snorted, but his eyes were a little wider, like he felt put on the spot. "Yes, well. It's what's expected of me."

Bruce let out a sigh. "You want to hear what I actually expect of you, or do you want to hold on to your preconceived notions? Dick has told me you've been getting better at letting go of those." Damian shrugged again, so Bruce continued. "What I want for you, is for you to be able to be whatever or whoever you want. I want you to have a good remaining part of your childhood, a few stable teenage years, and many amazing years as an adult, before you die of old age, safe and comfortable until the end. Actually, there will probably be a few unstable teenage years, seeing as... well, you're half _me_ , and you're half Talia, which presents separate but equal challenges for us all, but that's... less important. I want for you to have the power of choice. I think _you_ want to have the power of choice, and I admire the fact that you went against your mother's wishes, against what you knew more and felt more safe with, to get that."

Damian picked up a claimed black pawn, and began flipping it between his fingers, an unusually nervous gesture. "You both have the opportunity to offer me power. Yours was more interesting at the time," he said, all bravado.

Bruce let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. Damian blinked, unused to the sound. Clark grinned, too, at Damian's cocky attitude. Proud little boy, indeed. "Yes, I suppose. I think Talia's crime imperium would hold more interest to you, though, when it comes to the... levels of power involved." 

"Grayson pointed out that the central power of Gotham would be more interesting and less likely to kill me before I turn eighteen."

Bruce snorted at that, too. "Dick is very good at many things, but he doesn't understand the League like you and I do. You made a very dangerous choice when you went against your mother and stayed with me, and you knew that. Still, you chose to do it. You chose to let me protect you. I'm thankful for that trust." 

Damian frowned. "It wasn't trust. It was _strategy_." Bruce hummed, like he very much didn't believe that, but was willing to play along. "It was!" Damian's eyebrows turned down sharply in frustration. 

"You'd have me believe one argument from Dick Grayson convinced you to abandon the League? No, Damian. I'm sure you had other reasons for making the decisions you did. It's alright, I don't need to know them."

"It was that and the power you could offer!" Damian insisted. 

Bruce huffed. "My power, huh? As has been proven, even I'm not invincible. I will be gone one day, and then the name Batman won't hold as much power as it does now. Even if someone takes up the mantle after me, it's proven it won't be as effective for keeping Gotham in check, for the League and my contacts. Travelling through time and its subsequent consequences put some things in perspective for me, Damian. The most prominent concern is that I haven't spent nearly enough time with you, any of you kids. Haven't enjoyed just being here enough." Bruce paused. "Well, maybe with Dick, but even then, we did yell a lot of that time. I suspect that doesn't count as father-son bonding."

"What about the Batman? Your company?" Damian asked, scandalized. 

"Important, in that they leave an impression on the world, and I'm not about to give them up anytime soon. But if you cut those things out of the equation..." Bruce must have shrugged. "All I have left is my family. You. Your brothers. Clark. Alfred. The truth is, without all of these aspects of me, I wouldn't have made it very far as Batman anyway."  
"How can you say that? You are a decorated warrior. You should not admit to such weakness."

"I don't think I'm decorated, just because I'm skilled. Warrior, though, sure. I'm also a dad," Bruce pointed out mildly. "A title I've fought equally hard for."

"A _weakness_ ," Damian pressed, but his face was twisted into that intrigued fascination, like when he was discovering something new. It was a pretty rare look for Damian, and Clark was happy Bruce could provide it. 

"On occasion. My sons are also fierce warriors, though. If you have weaknesses and you know it, you can arm them. Or at least, I could, seeing as my weaknesses have always been willing to fight for me, as I have been for them. As long as you know they're weaknesses to you and you guard them accordingly, like a blind spot in a fight, you can have as many weaknesses as you'd like. I'm riddled with them. It's okay to be a little weak sometimes, as long as you have others there to guard you. That's what family is for."

"You don't ask someone to defend your weak spots for you," Damian said sharply, like this was a mantra he'd been taught early, that Bruce challenging it was a threat to his fundamental beliefs. "That's being a burden. Being vulnerable to attack. It isn't done."

Bruce, too, seemed to recognize this, but instead of easing off, like Clark would've, he leaned forward, so Clark could now see the back of his dark head. "Here, with me, with this family, you are not a burden, and you are not a crown prince like with the league. Is there no room for you to be something in between?"

Damian watched Bruce intently, and Clark imagined that Bruce looked back with that same intensity. "And what would that be?" 

"Just you. Being you. Whatever that means to you. You're allowed to just- be a person, as much as anyone else is. You don't have to be the next Batman, you don't have to be the next Demon's Head, and you don't have to be the next CEO of Wayne Enterprises just to be someone worth protecting. You deserve that just because you _exist_."

Damian's big dark eyes were still roaming over Bruce's face, watching for any hint of dishonesty in his features. When he couldn't find it, he swallowed. "Where does that leave me, then?" he asked, his voice soft. "Without being the next Demon's Head. Without being the next Batman, or CEO. If I can't do that... what then?" 

Bruce made a gently exasperated noise. "It leaves you free to do whatever you want. Do you want to go to art school? Go hitch-hiking in Europe? Be an astronaut? As long as it's a choice you make, because it will make you happy, I don't care what it is. All that's asked of you is that you..." Bruce sighed. "That it's within reason."

Damian seemed to ponder this, and he pulled his legs up in the chair with him, curling an arm around his knees. It was a surprisingly childlike thing for him to do, and Clark revelled in him allowing that level of vulnerability around Bruce. "Can I ask a question now?"

"Of course," Bruce murmured reassuringly, in his dark, smooth baritone. Just the tone made Clark break out in goosebumps.

"Do you hate my mother?" Damian asked defiantly, though he looked calm enough. The way he was curled around himself like he was braced for a blow belied that, however. "I want to know the truth."

Bruce let out a silent breath, obviously attempting to tread lightly. "Your mother had a... very troubling childhood. It's made her into a troubled person."

"That's not an answer," Damian said sharply, almost angrily.

Bruce could still surprise Clark, with the sharp turns his brain took. Most of the time though, his twists were right. "What you really want to know is if I hate her for making you. And while I take issue with her methods, I don't hate you. You're my son, Damian. You're clever, sharp, and you learn faster than I've ever done. You continue to surprise me at every turn, with your growth and your strength and ability to overcome. Like any person, like any child, you've made mistakes. As long as you learn from them, I don't see why you shouldn't be forgiven and allowed to try again, as with Tim. Your mother has no bearing on my opinion of you. If you ever felt that was the case, that was my fault, and I apologize for that."

Damian blinked, gaping like he'd never been apologized to in his life. Which... now that Clark thought about it, might very well be the case, before he came to them. Clark could barely even imagine Talia's voice coming anywhere near a sorry, much less to a child, even her own. All of the stories Damian had been told about Bruce, about Batman, probably didn't align very well with the Bruce sitting in front of him right now. 

He was bad at apologizing, always had been, but when it really mattered, when he knew that it was on him and nobody else, Bruce could pull through, and Clark appreciated that a lot. As a parent, Clark thought that admitting you made mistakes was important. It was about mutual respect. His parents had apologized to him when they were in the wrong, and it had always reassured him as a child. He was a firm believer in knowing when you did wrong, and owning up to it. Clark smiled as he watched Damian give his father a surprised, acknowledging nod, and move his queen on the board.

After only a moment's thought, Bruce moved a knight. Damian licked his lips nervously, before he moved his next piece. "I don't want Grayson to leave," he demanded, out of seemingly nowhere. The anxious set of his shoulders suggested that this was something that had been weighing on him for a while, though.

Bruce let out a tired breath. "Believe me, I wish I could promise something like that. Sadly, I'm well aware that I have no control over where he goes. I think he would like to stay for a while as well, at least. I know he's been a point of stability for you. Jason too."

Damian sniffed a little haughtily. "They're... tolerable, I suppose."

Bruce let out another laugh, and this time, the corners of Damian's lips twitched along. "Yes, I suppose they are. I will admit, my life would be infinitely duller without them."

"You say that as if you didn't spend almost a whole year arguing with Grayson," Damian remarked. 

Clark could hear the grin that was all teeth in his voice, when Bruce next spoke. "Yes. I stand by my word choice. Without someone to challenge you, you never really grow. Just because Dick and I had a nasty fight for a while, doesn't mean we never worked it out. Though I'm sure this whole affair has set us back a bit. However... bad once doesn't have to mean bad forever."

Damian watched Bruce make another move, and then he cleared his throat lightly. "I lied, earlier." Bruce made a noise, as if it was of interest, but he wasn't going to push. Damian continued. "I know why I stayed. I stayed with you because I've never been hurt by your hand. The first thing Richard promised me was that off the sparring mats, no hand would ever be raised against me, unless I was a danger to others. And that promise has been kept for longer than anticipated."

Clark could practically sense Bruce freezing in place. " _Longer_ than anticipated? Someone's laid a hand on you, here?"

"No," Damian said. Then he tilted his head in consideration. "I mean, Todd does. But in the way Grayson has assured me is.... _affectionate_." Traditional ten-year-old-with-cooties voice. Clark had really missed that one, more than he expected.

Bruce seemed to relax a bit. "Ah. Yes, Jason is a physically affectionate person. Dick and Clark, too. Though they express it differently, all of them. Jason likes to fight, Clark likes to hold, and Dick likes to pat."

"Pat?" Damian asked, eyebrows furrowing again. 

"Yes. The little touches. Pulling on your clothes, patting your shoulder, your cheek, always tapping his fingers against some part of you. Clark grabs and holds, mostly. Jason grabs and wrestles, if he can. It's how they express affection. If you really don't want them to do it, then you can tell them to stop, but I think it's... quite nice, when you get used to it."

" _Nice_?" 

"Yes, Damian. _Nice_. Again, with the weaknesses. As long as you know about them, protect them... you can treat yourself to a little weakness." 

Damian pursed his lips. "Mother wouldn't tolerate any weakness at all."

"I'm sure she wouldn't. I'm sure I shouldn't, either. But I can only be so much of a hypocrite. What would she have done, then, that you're expecting me to do as well?" 

"To beat it out of me," Damian replied slowly, like Bruce was some sort of idiot. Clark felt his throat close up, and he heard the sound of Bruce's chair scooting back. He got up, and crouched in front of Damian's chair, much to the bewilderment of their youngest, who looked down at his father with wide eyes. 

"Damian," Bruce said, his voice soft. " _God_ , Damian." Without warning, Bruce rose just enough that he could wrap his arms around Damian, squeezing his eyes shut. In comparison, Damian's green eyes were wide as saucers for a moment, before he began blinking rapidly in his father's arms. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you away from her earlier. If I had known..." Bruce sighed, cupping the back of Damian's head tenderly. Damian closed his eyes, and Clark did too, trying not to make a sound. "If I had known, I wouldn't have rested until I knew you were safe with me. I'm happy Dick managed to convince you to stay, because returning and not finding you here would have been devastating. I've lost enough sons. I'm not letting you get away, too."

Clark opened his eyes again just in time to see Damian's tentative little fingers wrap tightly half-way around Bruce's wrist, just holding on. "Okay," he said, his voice small. 

Bruce pulled back just enough so he could look Damian in the eyes. "She _never_ gets to lay a hand on you again. Or Ra's. Ever. I'll see to that. Alright?"

The conviction in Bruce's voice was all Batman, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes Bruce's, but that was always the case with him; Batman wrapped in Bruce wrapped in Brucie, masks shifting place whenever the situation called for it. When Damian nodded, just an inclination of his head, Bruce nodded back, brushing a soft thumb over Damian's eyebrow. 

Father and son stared at each other in silence for a moment, but for once, Clark thought it was because they were reaching an understanding, rather than just a stalemate. 

"Would you like to finish the game?" Bruce asked, tilting his head. 

Damian swallowed, and nodded again. Bruce nodded back, and unwound himself from around Damian, though he had a regretful look on his face as he did. When Bruce turned to take his seat again, his eyes met Clark's through the gap for only a second. When he sat back down, he scraped his chair back, loudly. When he did it once again, Clark grabbed the toy under the cover of the sound, and then escaped through the other open door into the hallway, hopefully undetected by the younger boy. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know what Heelys are, google it and prepare to be dazed and amazed! Honestly if they made them in adult sizes, you bet ur ass I would own a pair lol.   
> How's the angst feeling? I just realized as I was writing this that I am... way more comfortable writing fluff lol, but artistic growth, I guess??? And we still got... two to three grueling heart to hearts to get through maybe, before time speeds up again? So, y'know... We power through!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get heavy up in this bish (yes it is Jason time bby)!!! Thank you all so much for your kindness, I'm learning as much about these characters as you guys are, deepening their complex af relationships just makes me so happy, so I'm delighted it tickles your pickles as well!!  
> Enjoy this chapter! <3

The next morning at brunch, Bruce announced that today would be a pool day. It was sunny and blue skies out, an unusual phenomena in Gotham for this early in the year, so they should definitely make use of it, that Clark agreed with. He knew there was a wide but short pool on the grounds, one that had been entirely outdoors in earlier iterations of the manor. Now, it was built into a big, chilly room with lots of windows and stone walls, and while it was beautiful and refreshing in the summer, this early in spring, it couldn't be anything other than freezing. 

Dick and Jason, too, looked skeptical, though if Jason wasn't convinced just because it had been Bruce's idea, Clark couldn't say. Bruce reassured them it'd be warm enough and did, at last, convince them all to go. Damian didn't actually own any swim trunks because he'd never needed a pair until now, so he got to borrow a pair of Tim's old ones, though he held them away from his body, pinched only between his thumb and pointer finger, when told to put them on. 

They hit the pool around one pm, meaning the sun shone right through the domed glass ceiling, brightening the room immensely. Clark just soaked in the rays for a while, muted a smidge by the window, while the others settled in around him. Always one to lead the parade that was the Waynes, Dick did a canon ball into the pool. There were lots of other splashes too, but Clark only snapped out of his trance at Damian's shout. 

"Father! Richard!" he shrieked, taking off at a run. "Todd is going to throw me in the water!"

"What's the matter, dork, can't swim?" Jason laughed, only a few feet after him. It was probably testament to their many running sessions that they were at the other side of the pool in no time, though Clark saw his goddamn life flash before his eyes as they ran over the slippery tiles. 

"Kal," Bruce said mildly, glancing up from where he was reclining in a lounger with his sudoku for only a second to assess the situation. "Go grab Damian for me."

"You got it, honey," Clark agreed, using a burst of super speed to grab Jason around the waist and haul him right off his feet. Jason yelped, and Damian looked over his shoulder, slowing down now that the threat was neutralized. Thank god. 

Clark went up in the air, towards the sun roof, and Jason let out another startled noise, trying to turn around or get away. Since Jason was wet from a previous dip, the next twist dislodged him. Thankfully, Clark managed to get a hold of Jason's wrist, sinking down a bit so they were only at about thirty feet over the surface of the water, grinning down at his boy. 

At the commotion, Bruce looked up for real, raising an eyebrow at Clark. "That's not Damian," he remarked.

"Damian wasn't the rascal in this case. At least I know this one can swim," Clark remarked, as Jason tried to hold on by grabbing at Clark's leg. 

"Gah! Pop!" Jason yelled. "What are you-"

"You've been told to play nice," Clark said calmly. "If you can't do that..."

"Drop him, pop!" Tim called from the lounger, taking a big slurp from a smoothie with a devious gleam in his eyes.

"Hey!" Jason complained, glaring over his shoulder at Tim. 

"Don't chase people around the pool area, Jase, it's dangerous!" Clark chided. "You know better than that. You could've slipped and cracked your head wide open."

"Do a back-flip!" Dick shouted from the edge, where he was splashing his feet in the water. 

Damian watched with a superior smirk from the side-lines, where his arms were crossed over his chest. Bruce could be seen sitting behind him, watching Clark and Jason with amusement. Clark gave Jason a small smile. "C'mon. Get in, before I dunk you myself."

"I'd really rather not, pop. Bit chilly, isn't it?" Jason said, like he wasn't dangling from an arm and Clark's leg with a rather charming little grin on his face. Clark tilted his whole body in the air so he was laying flat, making Jason lose his already slippery grip on Clark's leg. 

"Oh, but you were going to toss Damian in, were you?" 

"He's being prissy about getting in the pool! It's not like he can't swim!"

"And what are you being now?" Clark asked with a little grin, loosening one finger from the now frowning Jason's grip. "At least I know you can swim. Hold your breath." 

"Aw c'mon pop!" Jason said, just as Clark let go of his hand. Jason smacked into the pool with a great splash, only managing to make it into a dive seconds before impact. 

Tim snorted as Jason resurfaced, spluttering and shaking his hair out of his face. Dick hopped back into the water to try and dunk him, though Clark doubted he'd be successful. At least he knew they could both hold their breath underwater for some time, if they started getting too aggressive. 

"Would you like to be flung into the pool as well, Tim?" Clark asked politely, dropping down right in front of Tim and Bruce's loungers. Tim raised his eyebrows, and flicked his eyes towards Bruce for just a second.

Without looking up from his sudoku, Bruce shook his head. "No tossing me in unless someone wants to sleep on the couch for the rest of eternity." 

"We have guest bedrooms," Tim said excitedly, eyes more alight than in ages. " _So_ many guest bedrooms."

Clark raised his eyebrows, and Bruce looked up, pinning him with his eyes. "Oh, don't make that face. You just make it so much more tempting, baby," Clark said with a grin.

"Why don't you try it, darling, and see what happens?" Bruce asked, his voice perfectly calm. Clark saw the teasing glint in his eyes, though, and it just made his smile wider.

"Stop making the dads want to make out, Tim!" Dick called from the pool, where he was now kneeling on Jason's shoulders. "Get in here so we can play chicken fight! You too, lil D." 

"I'm not getting in the water!" Damian declared, primly sitting down on the sunlounger on the other side of Bruce. Tim set his smoothie down though, and pulled his shirt over his head, so he was in only his neon green swim trunks. When he dove into the pool, it was so smooth of a motion that it barely even made a ripple in the surface of the water. 

"Then we're uneven! Bruce, be my base," Dick demanded, hands now on his hips. 

"No thank you. I'm happy where I am," Bruce hummed, scribbling a number in one of the squares. 

"You were the one who said we're having a pool day," he pointed out, falling backwards off of Jason so he could swim up to the edge. "You can't just say that and then not even get in the pool."

"Yeah, B," Tim said. "It's pretty hypocritical of you."

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then he folded his sudoku paper in half, clipped his pen onto it, and stood up. "Fine. But we play best of three, and then I want to relax with my sudoku again. Deal?"

"Deal!" his past Robins chirped back, trading mischevious grins the moment Bruce looked away from them. Clark took the moment to steal Bruce's chair in the sun, and also to oogle his partner's strong shoulders as he dropped down into the pool gracefully. All four of them swam closer to the shallow end.

"You should be on my shoulders. Or you'll just crumple under me and choke," Jason said as he turned over to do a back-stroke. 

"Bet that's something you're used to saying often, giant," Tim said, dodging when Jason tried to swipe at his head. 

"Get on my shoulders, Tiny Tim," Jason snarked while Dick climbed onto Bruce's shoulders with ease.

"I see blood anywhere in this water and I'm calling this off immediately," Bruce warned his sons as Tim scrambled up on Jason's shoulders, getting a boost from the older boy and almost kneeing him in the face, probably on purpose. 

"A little blood never hurt anybody," Jason said. Thankfully, Bruce and Jason were just about the same height, meaning Dick and Tim ended up at around the same height as well.

"I beg to differ," Bruce said. Actually, maybe it wasn't that great that they were the same height, because that meant they kept making eye-contact. Clark wasn't exactly sure what would happen if that kept occuring, but was saved from thinking about that too hard by Tim's next cry.

"Then beg!" he exclaimed, grabbing onto Dick and almost toppling the two of them immediately as Dick shouted garbled nonsense and tensed his legs so he wouldn't fall. 

Clark laughed as he watched their theatrics, and saw them wobble to and fro quite a few times before Alfred was suddenly at his side with two purple smoothies. 

"Getting some sun, Master Clark?" Alfred asked, bending at the waist to offer him and Damian the smoothies. Damian took the one on his side of the tray, mumbling out a self-conscious thanks. 

"Yes, actually. Spring is getting to Gotham early this year, huh?" he said, taking a sip. "Oh, this is delicious, Alfred. Thank you."

Alfred dipped his head in a nod. "I can tell you haven't really stepped outside yet, Master Clark. Don't be fooled by the sun. It's quite cold, still. Just a bit more sunny than one would think, yes."

"Would you like to take a seat?" Clark asked, nodding to Tim's sunlounger. Alfred gave him a polite smile. 

"Master Clark, _please_. I shall be in the kitchen. I will check back in about half an hour. Please make sure no one drowns," he said, disappearing as quietly as he came. 

"You got it!" Clark called after him, as he heard a great splash from the pool. Tim had been shoved off of Jason, and Dick cackled maniacally in his victory. He grabbed Bruce's hand off of his knee, just so he could slap him a high-five. 

Damian cleared his throat like he wanted to say something, so Clark turned his head to look at him. "I can swim," he said firmly, glancing between Clark and his brothers and father in the pool. 

"Okay," Clark agreed, not entirely sure what he wanted to him to say. 

Damian pursed his lips, like Clark was the one who was being difficult here. "You told Todd you at least knew he can swim. The reason I'm not getting into the water is _not_ that I can't swim. Because I can."

"Alright then. Would you like me to drop you into the water as well, Damian?" Clark asked with a smile. 

"No," Damian said, with a haughty sniff.

"Alright then. I just like to actually punish the offending party. You running away when Jason tried to do something you didn't want him to, is actually the nicest thing you could've done to him. He can be a little much, when he thinks he's being funny. Just know he's not really malicious."

Damian tilted his head in thought. "If I asked you to drop Todd in the pool, would you?"

Clark chuckled. "Within certain limits, sure. Though if he asks me to do the same to you, don't count on me saying no." 

Damian frowned, but then gave a short nod, before turning back to just staring at his brothers as they rough-housed, sloshing the water about around them. 

"You know, Jason learned how to swim in this very pool," Clark said, without prompting. "He had no clue how to swim when he was just a year or two older than you. A lot of kids in America have no clue how to swim because they've never learned how, never needed to. Especially city kids don't really learn, because they've never been in a big body of water."

"I know how to swim," Damian snapped. 

"I'm sure you can, Damian. I'm just sharing some facts I know. I don't think Dick knew how to swim either, actually, now that I think about it. But he took to it like a duck to water. We had to bribe Jason quite a bit to even get in the water with us, though. Very skeptical, that kid. But look at him now. No fear. I think that's pretty amazing of him, actually." 

"Todd was afraid of water?" Damian asked, his voice gleeful and smug. 

"Well. More afraid of drowning in it, I think. Jumping off rooftops, that was fine, but swimming? Nope. Aversion right off the bat. But it's a survival skill he couldn't do without. I think he knew that, too, or he wouldn't have tried so hard to overcome his fear. He learned to trust that we'd keep him afloat until he could do it himself. It's what family is for."   
Damian pursed his lips, probably bummed that the fun story had been derailed into life lessons. "I just don't want to go into the water. I don't see why this is a personal offence to Todd."

Clark hummed. "Don't worry about it. You don't have to go in if you don't want to. You could just dip your feet. To claim participation in a family activity."

Damian sighed, loudly and dramatically. "I'm here. That's participating, isn't it?"

"Alright. Would you just keep me company, then? You don't even have to dip your feet if you don't want to," Clark asked nicely, because Damian _didn't_ hate him. He knew that now. 

Damian rolled his eyes, but slipped off the sun lounger. "If you _insist_."

Clark smiled, and sat down on the edge, sinking his feet into the warm water and enjoying the sunlight on his face. Damian sat down with only about two feet of space between them, and then hesitantly dipped his two feet into the water. Seeing him relax a bit at the warmth confirmed Clark's suspicions that there was something going on here with Damian and the pool, but he didn't push.

Instead, he leaned his head back to face the sun, and closed his eyes. Only the sound of the boys' splashing and laughter reached his ears, and he felt at peace, surrounded by his family. When he cracked his one eye open a moment later, Damian, too, had his face turned up towards the sun, both feet in the water. 

Clark closed his eyes again, but couldn't quite stop his smile from widening into a toothy, silly grin. 

\---

Since he knew his partner so well, Clark could tell when Bruce was gearing up for something. Today, he'd had that energy ever since he woke up, all during brunch, and now, sitting in his study and going over JL paperwork. Then, Bruce looked at his watch, and stood up. Clark rose with him, smacking his book closed and placing it on the side table. 

"You don't need to follow me everywhere," Bruce pointed out as he rounded the desk, making his way towards the door. 

"Getting antsy?" Clark asked, raising his eyebrows. "And since when do I not follow you into every battle you let me?"

Bruce stopped in the hallway, steel eyes tracing over Clark's defiant face. "Hopefully, this isn't going to become an actual battle."

"You're talking it out with Jason, then?" Clark asked, feeling nervousness tickling his stomach at the thought. 

Bruce gave a short nod, and began walking again, with a goal in mind. "At least, I'm going to try my best. It's the one thing that keeps niggling at me. It's harder to put it out of my mind, now that he's here."

"Good. I'm happy that you're going to make an effort," Clark said, giving his partner an encouraging smile and a stroke down his back. 

Bruce stopped in front of the closed door leading into one of the sitting rooms, and lowered his voice. "You can be there, because I know you worry and you'll eavesdrop anyway, but I don't want you interfering. This is between Jason and I, not the three of us. Okay?" Bruce asked, his eyes intent. 

Clark nodded, miming zipping his lips together. "Quiet like a house mouse goin' for the cheese under the cat's nose."

Bruce held a finger up. "Don't be cute, I'm trying to prepare." Clark raised his eyebrows at his partner, who had willingly stepped in front of bullets for him for no good reason before, and who now felt the need to prepare, just to face their son. It made him a little sad, and it must've shown on his face, because Bruce sighed, and placed a gentle kiss on Clark's lips, like he was gathering strength.

Then, he tapped his knuckles against the wood of the door twice, and opened it. The sitting room was deserted, save for Jason, who was lounging on one of the couches, despite groaning about them being so thin and rock-hard, just earlier this week. 

"Do you have a moment, Jason?" Bruce asked politely. Jason looked up from behind his book, eyeing Bruce and Clark consideringly. 

"We doin' this now?" he asked, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at them. 

"As cordially as possible, yes," Bruce agreed, sitting down on the couch opposite Jason's. 

Jason pursed his lips, and then he sighed, swinging his legs off the couch. He put in a bookmark between the pages of his book, and placed it on the coffee table between the couches. Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw Bruce place something on the table to his right, out of sight. 

"You here as a body guard, pops? Gonna search me?" Jason asked, raising his eyebrows. 

"We've got a knife minimum up here in the manor, and Alfred keeps to it religiously. I _better_ not have to search you." He raised his eyebrows back challengingly, and Jason grinned, resting his elbows on his knees. 

"Naw, we're good. Damian's got the knife today." Clark rolled his eyes, making Jason's eyes glint. 

"Good, then. Don't you worry about it, Jase. I'm just here for me. And for both of you. Moral support, and all that."

"And so you don't have to eavesdrop," Jason added, leaning back. "You tend to do that a lot, nowadays. Scared we're gonna kill each other?"

"I just like keeping an ear on you," Clark said placidly, fooling no one in the room. 

Jason snorted. "Yeah, right." 

"We'll be accomodating, right Jason?" Bruce asked, deep eyes intent on their second son. 

"Clark knows as much as you do that I don't particularly like to accomodate anyone if I don't gotta. So maybe. It's a toss up, depending on how dense you are today." Jason crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Bruce.

"Don't talk to your dad like that," Clark interjected, almost in a knee-jerk reaction to the sharp words. Bruce placed a soothing hand on his knee. 

"I would appreciate it if Jason spoke freely. I hope he'll give me the same courtesy."

Jason scoffed. "That's rich, coming from you. You want me to speak freely?"

Bruce made a sweeping motion with his free hand. "The floor is yours, Jason."

Jason stared him down, and then he huffed, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Alright then, B. You want me to speak my mind? _Fine_. You think you're morally superior to the criminals you fight, but you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and no matter what you do, you can't erase that. That means you have a fundamentally different world view, whether you like that, or no. _I_ understand what Gotham needs more than you ever will, and what she needs is the scum off her streets, and with your methods, _you_ can't do that."

Bruce nodded, but more like he acknowledged that Jason had spoken than anything else. "Have you been killing when I've been gone?"

Jason shrugged, pursing his lips. "When the situation warranted it."

"And how do you _know_ when it was warranted, Jason? You don't know everything about every operating crook in Gotham. How do you know when the person commiting a crime deserves death? Why are you specifically allowed to make this distinction, instead of a judge and a jury?"

"You can't honestly believe the court system is more fair and just than my methods. The system is rigged as fuck, Bruce! And you know that, because if it wasn't, you wouldn't even get to be Batman, getting info from the GCPD, from the commissioner himself! Because he knows the system is rigged too, and full of dirty cops."

"A few bad apples can be weeded out. It's what Gordon's good at."

"The goddamn saying is 'a few bad apples spoil the barrel', B! That's the point! One rotten apple means the whole fucking thing is ruined! There is no 'good' cop because the system they uphold is inherently bullshit and discriminatory against anyone who isn't a white, straight, rich man!"

Bruce stared Jason down, but he didn't fold one inch, was staring right back, meeting Bruce's eyes without any fear. Clark wondered idly if actually being here was more or less nervewracking than just listening in. 

"What we do as vigilantes is not upholding the system," Bruce pointed out, leaning back in the couch. 

Jason huffed. "Yeah, _right_. You get people sent to prison. Prison isn't rehabilitation, isn't a way to get 'better'. Not here. Not anywhere really, but _especially_ not in Gotham. Arkham too is sketchy as shit, according to Harley, who has an actual goddamn psych-degree."

"You're friends with Harley Quinn?" Bruce questioned, and Clark raised his eyebrows at their son, his interest piqued.

Jason held his hands up. "So not the point, B." When Bruce also raised demanding eyebrows, Jason rolled his eyes. "Jesus. Fine. We get brunch together sometimes, us nutjobs in between, y'know? Afrer all, if there's anyone who can relate to what it's like to be banged around by the Joker, it's Harley." His grin was mean, a reminder of blood in his teeth, of a boy crushed under rubble and dust, with bones already broken from a crowbar. Clark closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself, and felt Bruce tense up in next to him. 

"I have the kind of money that could affect what happens at Arkham and Blackgate. But then again, I'd be using my money to do so, and I got that money along with the silver spoon. Would that be very ethical of me?"

"Ethics is just the system's expectations, fucking _full_ of bullshit. Your morals, that's where the real pressure point is. You _know_ Blackgate is just a turnstile, just a place to put people until they're ready to commit more crime. The same amount of criminals go in as get shoved out."

Bruce hummed. "As soon as they have job security, as soon as they know where their next meal is coming from, there's less repeat offenders. People generally don't want to turn to crime. All people want to do is survive, Jason. It's why WE provides jobs for ex-convicts. Because if we give people an opportunity to be better, they want to take it." 

Jason shook his head vehemently. "It's still not enough. What if people don't wanna work for WE? If they just wanna sell drugs, and don't care who the fuck they're dealing to?"

"So your first solution to fix this is murder," Bruce said slowly. 

"Nothing else you're doing is working, obviously!"

"The death penalty isn't a deterrent for criminals. They've done studies on this. Even with all your effort to 'clean the scum off of Gotham's streets', there's still crime."

"It's not like I'm talking capital punishment. I'm more of a real threat than that." The smirk on his face was nasty, prideful and haughty. Clark looked away. Bruce didn't. 

"Desperate people do desperate things, Jason. What about the criminals with kids? Do they deserve to lose their parents, like you did? You only continue the cycle of violence when you leave them bereft, alone and angry."

The look on Jason's face was dark. "Just having kids doesn't make anyone a saint," he said grimly. "It even makes them more of an arrogant, controlling asshole, sometimes."

Oh, that was a barbed comment. Clark could see from Bruce's face that that one had hit home, and Bruce took a deep breath. "Well then. I don't think either of us is going to come out of this room happy," he said, his face mechanical looking and frozen in a blank. Jason crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the couch, perhaps unconsciously reflecting Bruce's pose. 

"I guess not," he agreed. 

Clark groaned, unable to remain quiet anymore. Both Bruce's and Jason's eyes snapped to him. "No, no, no. I'm not dealing with this anymore. I _know_ you can both be reasonable people. We can figure this out, you both just have to give it more than a single chance."

"I don't think I've ever been rea-" Jason began, but was cut off by Clark raising a finger. 

He shook his head tiredly. "Don't joke, Jaybird. Just... _don't_ do that, right now. Jason, sweetheart, you _have_ to admit that not even Batman is perfect. You used to hero-worship Bruce as a child and now that you've grown up and realized he has faults, suddenly he's all that's bad in this world! And if you don't get that particular thought out of your head, this is never going to figure itself out! You're mad at both yourself and him, and that's fine, to a certain degree! But you have to understand that, as stupid as it sounds, _nobody_ is perfect. As much as I'm superhuman, I've disappointed and failed you too and you forgave me for that! And that was very kind of you, and very strong. Parents are just _people_ , Jason. A single man can't change how the whole system is structured; all he can do is try. You can't hold Bruce to a higher standard than everybody else, just because he's your dad."

Bruce opened his mouth to add to that, but Clark cut him off, too.

"And Bruce! Honey, we've had this conversation what feels like a billion times by now. You can't expect our kids to come out of their side-kick days agreeing to everything you ever say. You chose them for Robin because you wanted someone willing to fight, someone willing to learn, and you got that! You picked right every time! And because of that, they've all become wonderful, strong heroes in their own might. But they're not copies of you. They have to make their own mistakes, their own judgement calls. If Jason doesn't want your guidance, don't try to press it on him. You know that's why you and Dick fought like feral cats for months."

"We have had this conversation a lot," Bruce agreed slowly. "It seems I need a reminder every now and then. This is different, though. This is a _crime_ , Clark."

"So's being a vigilante," Jason snapped. "What's legal and what you have to do according to your own morals doesn't always overlap. _You_ told me that."

"Murder is never ethical, nor is it legal. We _don't_ kill. That's the cardinal rule, Jason. This isn't just a tiff, or a spat. I've pinned crooks to streetlights to be picked up by the GCPD for less than what you've done." Clark rolled his eyes at Bruce's dramatic turn of phrase.

Jason scoffed, shaking his head. "You're alone in your beliefs, you know. I'm, well, me. Damian's always going to think death is easier, more natural to him than maiming. Dick doesn't kill because he's a wimp who doesn't have the stomach for it, and Tim doesn't kill because you tell him not to. Without you here to tell him that..." He trailed off meaningfully. Clark swallowed hard.

"Tim doesn't kill," Bruce said, his voice firm.

Jason hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head from side to side. "He toes the line. You can tell he pulls his punches, when all he wants to do is pummel someone's face in. I don't think you really understand what's going on in Timmy boy's brain anymore."

"The whole reason he wanted to become Robin in the first place was because he thought I was getting too violent. Tim _doesn't_ kill."

"Newsflash, B: he's not _Robin_ anymore. He picked the colors of his new, shiny Red Robin suit to honor his dead best friend. He wears a cowl now to remind himself to stay in his head. He's different from how he was before. Tim's been through some shit, and you coming back doesn't erase that fact. Look him in the eyes and tell me you see someone who's convinced that life is sacred."

Bruce pursed his lips, considering this. Clark was sure this tid-bit was being stored in the back of his brain, but if Clark could tell Jason was only saying it to get a rise out of him, then Bruce knew that too. After a moment of silence, Bruce tilted his head thoughtfully. "Would you compromise with me, Jason?" 

Jason blinked, unused to the sharp curves in Bruce's ways of thinking after so long. "What?" 

"Compromise. A little for me, a little for you. I understand that we have different views. But I also know that you're incredibly smart and you've always been good at picking yourself up and brushing yourself off, in the face of adversity. I know that you're kind, empathic, and a good brother. The fact that you want to kill people seems to strike such a stark difference to all of those other facts about you that I know." Bruce reached for a rectangular black case resting on the coffee table next to him, and popped it open, placing it on the table between them. 

Jason's eyes flicked between the opened box and Bruce. "Rubber bullets. You think that's going to fix things? Leaving someone's death up to chance? No." He snapped the lid shut with force, and Clark could see Bruce grit his teeth out of the corner of his eye.

"Then I don't know what you want from me, Jason," Bruce stated, his voice filled with frustration.

"I thought I made that pretty clear: I want you to kill the Joker because he killed me."

Bruce was shaking his head before Jason had even finished speaking. " _No_. If you get to pick one thing, one big thing, you want me to do to make up for the past, for you to forgive me. And it can't be killing the Joker. What would that be? _Really_ think about it, please."

It was probably the heartfelt 'please' that did it, because Jason pinched his lips shut, and thought. "I don't know," he finally said, eyeing Bruce suspiciously. 

"I want to make this right, Jason. But I can't do that while compromising my core principles. I don't kill, and I don't ever intend to. As much as I have to respect that you make your own choices, you have to respect that I make mine, and this is an uncrossable line for me." Bruce blinked, twice, and Clark could see him swallow hard, bracing himself. All of the morning's preparation culminating in a single moment for him. "But if that is the only way you will ever forgive me, then I'm... incredibly sorry to see you go. You are still my son, and I... I love you. I always will. I want to support you, but... I can't, like this." 

Jason chewed on his lip, his eyes shiny in a way Clark hadn't seen since he was twelve years old. He crossed his arms over his chest, but for the first time in ages, Jason seemed to be hearing Bruce, his sincerity.

"How can you possibly say that, still?" he asked, his voice hushed and baffled.

Bruce blinked. "We live a stressful life. A life I pushed on you. Any decisions you make as a vigilante is a direct effect of me making you Robin in the first place. Any life you take." 

Jason frowned. "For all you know, I would've joined a gang instead. Maybe I would've died in a drive-by a week after I met you. What, you blame yourself because I went crazy?"

"I blame myself for a lot of things, with you. For not knowing that you were so desperate to find your mother. For not helping you. For your death. For your resurrection causing you so much pain. For not being there when you needed me most." Bruce stopped, swallowing hard again. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Clark rested a hand on his partner's neck, stroking gently, but watching Jason watch Bruce like a hawk the whole time. "The truth is, there are a lot of things I regret not doing. You were bright, even as a boy. I still should have protected you better."

Jason scoffed, but he turned his head away. "I was fifteen. I didn't want to be protected." 

Bruce looked up sharply. "And what about now?"

Jason blinked, looking up at Bruce again with a furrow between his eyebrows. "What do you mean, what about now?"

"You didn't want to be protected by me at fifteen. What about now?"

Jason stared at Bruce for a long time, then finally shook his head. "I honestly have no clue what you're talking about right now."

Bruce chewed on his lower lip again, tapping his fingers against the table in a nervous gesture. "As Batman, I can offer you protection. Let you tap into Oracle, give you access to our files, our sources, our gadgets and utilities. The Joker would never get anywhere near you, ever again. I wouldn't even let him get close. You can pick the people guarding him at Arkham, if you want to." Bruce popped his wrist, where it was hanging between his knees, licked his lips. "I can offer you more. As- as your dad, too. I know you and Roy had an apartment in Gotham, but if you... If you'd like to continue to stay here, our doors are always open to you. Or I get you a new apartment that won't get broken into any second you're not there to protect it." 

"But?" Jason said, raising an eyebrow. 

Bruce tapped his fingers against the case on the coffee table again. "Rubber bullets. _My_ kind of rubber bullets."

"Bat-symbol and everything?" Jason said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

Bruce nodded. "I won't stoop so low as to call them bat-bullets, but yes."

"Oh, but you never protested against the word 'batarangs'?" Jason snarked.

Bruce's grin was tired, but wide and genuine, enjoying Jason's bark without the bite. "You weren't here when Dick was about ten, but let me tell you, he's always been the kind of unstoppable force he is right now. I had no choice in the matter, I assure you." 

Jason snorted, popped his wrist without noticing. Clark did, though, and had to stop himself from smiling. "I don't want your stupid money," Jason finally said, but his tone wasn't vicious, just blunt. 

"Okay," Bruce agreed. "I tend to spend it wherever the hell I want, though. Just so you know. That includes my kids."

"The Joker's just going to keep getting out, you know. He's done it before. Does it all the time," Jason pointed out. "He's going to hurt more people."

Bruce shook his head. "You and I won't let him. Will we?"

Jason pursed his lips. "Mm. Sneaky of you, B. What if he gets one of the others, next time? He's gotten kind of obsessed with the whole dead-Robin thing, now."

"You and I won't let him," Bruce repeated, just as firm this time around. 

Jason stared into Bruce's eyes, and maybe he'd never really understood how someone could love you and grieve you at the same time, either, before. Just like Diana, he thought that someone lost was someone to be grieved endlessly, and he'd believed that Bruce was lost to him for quite some time. Jason wasn't a parent, though, didn't know that you could love someone for who they were right this second and grieve for the loss of who they'd used to be, and the other way around, without that love being ingenuine. Grief was an extension of love, not another emotion entirely. 

Bruce would probably never be able to unsee the young Jason he'd taken under his wing so many years ago now, and he'd probably always mourn the loss of him, just a bit. But _this_ Jason was here, was whole and real and needed his support just as much as that Jason had. Bruce was offering, and all Jason would have to do was accept, like he'd done many times before. Clark wondered if Jason even remembered that he didn't have to do everything on his own, if he remembered how _good_ he'd been as Robin, under Bruce's protection, under his watchful eye. 

They could be good, again. All they would have to do was actually give it a damn try, _both_ of them. Clark held his breath as the tension crackled across his shoulders, between Bruce and Jason's strong wills.

"What B means is-" Clark began nervously, but was cut off by Jason shaking his head sharply, just once. 

"I know what he means," he said quietly, watching Bruce with a new awkward twist to his lips. "Thanks, pop. So this is the hill you're willing to die on, Bruce?"

"For you, Jay. Yes," Bruce agreed, his voice equally silent and grave. Jason swallowed hard, and nodded. 

"Alright, you bastard. I'll try," he said, letting out an explosive sigh. Bruce dipped his head, his shoulders relaxing. Clark could practically feel his entire body buzzing with joy, bursting into a blinding grin. He tried to hide it from Jason, though, who might think he was acting smug. 

"Thank you, Jason," Bruce said, sounding genuinely grateful, and Clark saw Jason biting the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to not show any emotion on his face, as if that was giving up or giving in. He gave another short, sharp nod anyway, and Clark found he could no longer contain himself.

"Now hug it out," he blurted into the silence of the room, his voice firmer than diamond. 

"Jesus, pop!" Jason groaned, smacking a hand over his face. Bruce blinked, like he hadn't been expecting that, though he should have. 

"I _mean_ it. You two, hug it out, right this second," Clark demanded, standing up so he could tower over them and cow them. He should know better than to attempt to outwill a bat, though. He could see Jason amassing protests by the second, his face contorting into a scornful frown in increments.

"I wouldn't mind," Bruce said, a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. Whatever slew of insults Jason had been about to unleash on Clark, that poked a hole in it in but a moment, making him stare at Bruce, gobsmacked. "And you know how your pop gets when it comes to distributing affection, Jay."

Jason looked at Bruce like he was perhaps dropped on his head multiple times as a child, but went willingly when Clark grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. Bruce stood up on his own volition, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. 

Then, for the first time in literal years, Bruce just grasped Jason's shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug. Clark knew from experience that Jason was broader than he'd been then, and taller too. Bruce adjusted accordingly in a second, wrapping one arm over and one arm under Jason's, and Jason tentatively raised his arms back. Clark couldn't see Bruce's face from this angle, but he could see Jason pinching his eyes shut, his furrowed eyebrows as Bruce placed his hand square in the middle of his back. 

Clark couldn't hold himself from this very long, either. Yes, this was between Bruce and Jason, as it had always felt like, but Clark could barey believe it, elated and overjoyed and unable to keep any of those feelings inside. He was the strongest man in the world, but as had been proven very recently, that didn't really mean a thing. 

In a moment, Clark was across the room, wrapping his arms around his second son and partner. He pressed a kiss to Jason's cheekbone and just held on, feeling Jason's fingertips pressing into the back of his hand, which lay on Bruce's shoulderblade. For just a second, Clark was going to blissfully enjoy the biggest sign of reconciliation between two of his favorite people in the world. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, this might have gotten a bit deeper than I intended, but BLM is on my mind a lot, and especially when I think of America's justice system so like... both Jason and Bruce have good points here, Jason's methods are maybe just a weeeee bit too aggressive. I just can't have Jason wanting to kill being melted down to 'hurr durr I wanna murder bc my dad doesn't like me' alright? That and him 'enjoying' killing makes me feel... weird, because that's like, straight up Joker-behavior! You think Jason likes being like the Joker??? No! Our boy just wants to be modern day Robin Hood, and an arrow to the chest is effective and also pretty lethal! Does Jay have a bit of a bloated ego? God yes! Doesn't mean he doesn't have his points!  
> Also! Batman ain't doin this just to punch criminals in the goddamn face! If your Batman is a violent psycho who gives no shits about the people of Gotham, that's NOT actually Batman! That's a random dude in a bat suit, I promise you.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at 1000 kudos now, which is... ASTOUNDING my peeps!!!! Really, truly mindblowing. This started as a prompt that bounced around my head for weeks before I felt brave enough to try and write it. Your continuous encouragement makes my heart melt, really. Your flattering comments make me grin ear to ear. In short, you're all awesome and I love you lol.   
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Bruce's disappearance had coincided with an avalanche in Austria, something Clark hadn't known at the time. He'd been... a bit spaced out, at the time. Alfred had happened to say Bruce had been skiing when he and Clark had gone off on the JL mission, and it had been a convenient excuse when only Clark had returned, to say that Bruce had been buried in that particular avalanche. It explained why they didn't have a body to bury, and the fact that he was declared missing, and would be for quite some time. The obvious grief from the family and the fact that Bruce was technically a CEO of Wayne Enterprises was the only reason the executor of the will had been contacted in the first place, and the man seemed ready to cry with happiness at not having to figure it out anymore. 

It was easy to slip the story to the Gotham Gazette, and then, when the story had exploded over all of Gotham's news-channels, Bruce did a couple of tv-appearances to reassure the public it was really him. He made some vague references to wandering off from his partner because of a beautiful plant on the nearby hill top, and to some real nice locals helping him out, but got distracted when pressed to answer any actual questions about where he'd been all this time. He managed to get side-tracked with everything, from talking about Damian's new portrait, about Tim's photography, about how great his kids were, to how amazing his partner was. 

Eventually, the whole thing was overshadowed by another local celebrity scandal, and everything went back to as normal as it had been before, at least publicly. 

Privately, the Waynes, were having a _week_. Damian had gotten a cold, bad enough that he shouldn't be out on patrol, and was therefore more pissy than usual. He'd managed to get Dick sick, too, and while it wasn't as bad with Dick, Bruce still benched them both. They occupied the red sitting room with tissues and hot soup, at Dick's insistence that Damian needed a proper sick-day or two. 

Jason, Tim, and Bruce had a single patrol together, but Jason complained that Bruce hovered worse than a Kansas gnat during a heat wave, and their two healthy kids took off on their own after that. Barbara kept an eye on all of them after Clark begged very nicely, but he still couldn't quite keep himself from having an ear on them during patrol. In all honesty, it was probably good for Bruce, who needed to get back in the groove, that he got to run some solo patrols.

Generally, Bruce bounces back from adversity fast when it's directed at him. Anybody else he cares about, he lets the wound fester for... well, for the rest of his life. Batman is a great example of that. It's also why it's a little surprising to Clark that Bruce is twitchy at night, still, a few weeks after he gets back to this time, because he _bounces back_. That's what he's trained himself to be able to do. While Clark doesn't think it's very healthy of him, he knows that Bruce can bounce back from trauma, from being terrified for his life, pretty dang fast. Scary fast, sometimes. It's why the nightmares are... off. There's something more lurking, there, in Bruce's mind.

For all that Clark feels that he knows Bruce best in the world, he doubts he's seen all of his dark corners. There's a reason Bruce likes to hide in them so much. This is just one of those things that he's always had down pat. Even when they lost Jason, he could still sleep peacefully, if only in short bursts. Clark doesn't think he ever hit REM-cycle, but he slept. He didn't have nightmares this bad, even then. Now he wakes up shaking, as if he hadn't been able to snap out of the nightmare before it shook him to the core. 

Safe to say, Clark didn't like it one bit. Bruce probably thought he didn't notice, but Clark could be perceptive sometimes, especially when it was happening on the other side of the bed. Tonight, Bruce had stayed home instead of running out on patrol, tucking in next to Clark with a book until lights out, no visible stress at all. 

Now though... Still half-asleep, Clark rolled over towards a shaky Bruce, curling an arm around his strong waist. Bruce didn't do something as dramatic as jerk awake, but he tensed, and then relaxed, something he wouldn't have done if he'd been fully asleep, or fully awake. Clark pressed a kiss to the back of Bruce's neck, tasting salty, stale sweat. "You good?"

Bruce hummed, placing his hand on Clark's. There, it felt firm, no tremors at all. Clark wondered blearily how hard Bruce was trying to hide this from him. "Yes. Go back to sleep, darling."

Clark stroked his fingertips over the skin on Bruce's stomach gently, and took a deep breath, only so he could sigh it out against the back of Bruce's neck and attempt to give him goose-bumps. "Y'know, this is my least favorite thing with you guys, when you keep telling me lies about your basic sanity and safety. A less patient guy might not put up with it as nicely as I do."

"You don't put up with it nicely," Bruce argued, turning around so he could tangle their legs together and meeting Clark's eyes in the darkness unerringly. When Clark raised his eyebrows at him, Bruce pouted, but in that secret way, that nobody realized was pouting. There was just something to the twist of Bruce's lips that made it such an obvious pout to him. It made Clark smile, to see the put out expression on his face. "Well. I suppose you could handle it worse."

"Mm. Want to tell me what's going on, or am I gonna have to wait more patiently for that?"

"I don't know, really," Bruce murmured. "Nightmares, I suppose."

"What about? Losing all your teeth? Getting lost in a labyrinth? I once had a nightmare that I stopped being able to fly, mid-air," Clark mumbled, knowing that Bruce would probably appreciate the distraction. 

"That could happen, you know," Bruce said, poking him in the chest. "You rely on your powers way too much."

"Yes, yes. Put me in the red sun chamber and we'll start a sparring program immediately. I'm sure your karate chops will serve me well when I'm falling to my flat-as-a-pancake death." 

Bruce huffed out a breath, and his eyes traced over Clark's face thoughtfully, before he shook his head. "I dream of waking up without you, mostly. I was... thrown around in time. I didn't just end up in one place. My memories have been very scrambled by the continuous amnesia. I get flashes of what lives I lived there, I suppose, lives where I didn't have you, or the kids. It's very... disorienting."

"Sounds scary," Clark murmured, thinking about articles he'd read about PTSD in veterans, about flashbacks and nightmares. He cuddled Bruce closer, brushing fingers behind his partner's ear, sweeping a thumb against the soft hair at his temple. 

Bruce swallowed, relaxing further into Clark's embrace. "It's... a little, yes. Mostly harrowing. It's always a stress to start over, and now I'm always worried that I'm going to turn around in bed and you're not going to be there when I open my eyes." Clark pressed kisses to both of his partner's eyelids. 

"I'm right here, Bruce. But trust me when I say I know the feeling. Are your usual techniques for sleep not working?"

"I suppose not. Though I haven't tried meditating yet. Haven't had the time," Bruce said, his voice deadpan but his eyes glinting with humor.

Clark snorted, rolling his eyes. "Very funny. How'd you manage to know, anyway, who you were? If you kept getting amnesia."

"I began picking up snippets. Keeping certain memories, from era to era. And there were some... recurring places, that I kept going through and getting deja vu. I managed to pass along an account of what I knew to some ancestors, who, at the time, were younger than me. A little disorienting, that. And I'm pretty sure my family name is now cursed," he murmured. 

"Oh, that again, hm?" Clark smiled. "I would think the Waynes have several curses placed on them. Just, y'know, going on the amount of people you've snagged business deals from right under their noses. People probably curse the Wayne name all the time." 

"Probably. I'm sure I've amassed more than one curse in my time. Poison Ivy probably cursed us just last week," Bruce shrugged, a tiny smirk at the corners of his lips. Clark let slip a laugh at that one. 

"Oh yes. A very cursed lot, those Waynes."

"And yet, you decided to shack up with one," Bruce pointed out, rubbing his hand down Clark's side. 

He hummed. "That I did. Maybe I like flirting with a little danger."

It was Bruce who laughed, then; the warm, low notes of his sleepy laughter making goosebumps rise all over Clark's body. It was surreal, still, to have him back, to be able to look over at the other pillow and see Bruce's dark head, to hear him speak, watch him move through the manor like he'd never left, as permanent of a fixture as the walls. 

"How'd you know it was time to go, when we came to get you?" Clark asked in a hushed tone. "That you weren't just being pulled to the next amnesiac scenario?" 

Bruce's eyes were practically luminescent in the darkness to Clark, who could look nowhere else, at the moment. "You called me," he said, his voice soft. "Clearer than any batsignal in the sky. And when you gripped my hand..." He let go of Clark's waist, just so he could intertwine their fingers. He pressed a reverent kiss to the inside of Clark's wrist. "I just- knew. I remembered, more fully than I had in who knows how long, who I was. What was waiting on the other side of that portal."

Clark smiled so wide his face could have split in two at his partner's words, and he shifted closer, as much as was possible at least. "And you mock me for going with my gut-feelings about things."

"Well. In this instance, I made an exception."

"Very kind of you, Mister Wayne," Clark agreed, bonking their foreheads together gently. Bruce closed his eyes, looking more relaxed now, at least. "We done sharing already?"

Bruce nodded, his hair brushing against Clark's forehead with the motion. "Yes. I think I just want to be here with you, now."

Clark smiled, cupping the back of Bruce's head to bring him in for a kiss. "Mkay. But I don't want you to hesitate to just wake me up when you have a nightmare. Or just tell me when things get rough. You don't always have to wallow in your misery all alone, honey. Alright? Promise me, Bruce."

"I promise, Kal," Bruce said, but his words rang with more meaning, his eyes when he pulled back too intense to just mean the nightmares. Clark felt his heart beat harder in his chest, and he focused on breathing deeply to bring it back down again, and curl around his partner as tight as he could. 

He had no doubt they'd detangle a bit as they slept. Bruce was perpetually a little chilly and Clark was perpetually running hot, so they usually balanced each other out, but with how closely they were intertwined now, he knew they'd get sweaty and uncomfortable in the night. 

Still, he enjoyed the comfort he could give his partner for now, and listened until Bruce's slow heartbeat became restful, before he could fall asleep himself. 

\--- 

Getting to be Batman again is better for Bruce's sanity, unsurprisingly enough. Dick and Damian are fine after a week, and Clark can tell everyone's a little anxious when it's time for their first patrol together. Even Jason watched with apprehension as the new Batman and Robin duo got into the batmobile together. But Clark had seen them discussing dog breeds the other day, while scratching Ace's belly together. He knows that when they weren't at each other's throats all the time, with both of their tempers, well, _tempered_ , the two of them could get along just fine. 

Clark almost thought Dick was going to cry, the moment he got to swing his old escrima sticks around, when he could turn his head freely in the Nightwing costume. He probably didn't notice the twitch in his shoulders, trying to sweep the cape forward, but Bruce did, blinking in surprise. Dick hadn't looked that happy in ages, and it illuminated the whole cave as everyone was getting ready to go out. Even Tim was swept along by his exuberance, agreeing to a game of tag through Gotham. 

All evening, Clark listened in on their comms, curled up in one of the computer chairs in front of the batcomputer. Their chatter was comforting, Dick teasing Bruce about getting Damian home in time for bed, and Jason and Tim bickering about the actual function of a rubber duck. He heard the click and swoosh of their grapplers, the sound of Bruce's cape snapping out to be used as a glider, Damian's delighted little gasps as he swept from roof to roof. 

Clark felt almost... longing. 

It's been a while since he put on his suit to go patrolling. Or maybe it just feels strange every time he pulls it on, now. He told Alfred he was going to head up to his Fortress for just a bit, to check on it. He ended up circling the earth, just listening to people breathing, talking, laughing. Living. In need of his help. 

Clark presses a hand to the El-sigil, to his family crest, where it rests over his heart, and wonders if he's ready to be super again. 

\--- 

They've always been a bit attached at the hip, especially after Jason's death, but it's probably getting a bit overboard, by now. The only reason he's not out on patrol with them during the nights is because he _knows_ the annoyed look Bruce would give him, and the thought of sleeping alone for a few weeks to wean him off of his partner's presence is not appealing to him. At all. 

So he tries to give Bruce some space. Bruce is a more reserved person than Clark in general, always has been, and sometimes he needs time to be alone. Or just, y'know, not being watched all the time. Which is fair, very reasonable of him. That's what Clark's trying to tell himself, at least. He was on the couch in one of the sitting rooms with Damian and Dick, watching Big Hero 6 because Dick thought it was a masterpiece and Damian was resigned to being forced to watch kids movies, by now. And yet... Clark had an ear on Bruce. 

He was trying to get better, honest! But he heard Bruce hum thoughtfully a moment ago, and it's making him nervous. Bruce only hums in response to other people. It's not something he does when he's by himself, usually, unless he's decided on something. And what that something is... Clark has no clue. 

Keeping his ears peeled, he heard Bruce twirl the hands on the clock in the study, and the sounding of gears as it opened. His shoes against the stone stairs, then the lack of sound from him. Instead, Clark only heard the clicking of keys on the batcomputer, and when he focused, the rapid beat of Tim's heart. 

"Cloning, hm?" Bruce said, his tone casual. _Way_ too casual for such a sensitive topic in this household. But it was how Bruce worked. Emotional bulldozering through problems. There was the sound of something screeching against the floor as Tim jerked in his seat. 

"I- what. _Who_ -?" he stuttered out, and Bruce hummed, cutting him off as he sat down in another computer chair.

"Clark told me, though I think Jason suspects something is up, as well. He sticks his nose everywhere. Curiosity and cats, and all that. I'm sure you've discovered by now that Jason's a bit more clever than he puts on."

There was the sound of nails scratching skin, probably Tim scratching his scalp, ruffling his hair. "Um. Yeah. What's his IQ, anyway?" 

"Not sure. He told me to screw off when I asked if he wanted to take an aptitude test. His reading level's always been high, though, as has any other school work and analysis. He's more... comprehensive than us others, I'd say. Where you and I will focus on details and their significance, Jason sees much more of the big picture. A little annoying, when he figures out the kind of secrets you'd like to keep close to your chest, but helpful, at least to me, when you try to figure out a conspiracy. Such as you conspiring to clone another Superboy." 

Clark flinched at Bruce's frank wording, but then again... There was a reason Bruce and Tim meshed so well and always had. Tim didn't flinch again. 

"It wasn't- I didn't want another." Tim still seemed to fumble while explaining, trying to put words to his motivations for what seemed like the first time. "I wanted _him_ back. And in hindsight, I realize it might have been... a _little_ crazy-"

"Tim," Bruce began, his voice firm. "It hasn't been much more than two weeks since you concluded the organizing of a world wide hunt for ancient magical artefacts to open a portal in time and space and pull me from another era. I think we can establish that 'a little crazy' does not nearly encompass our lives."

Tim let out a half-laugh, the kind he never usually managed anymore. Clark couldn't even remember the last time he heard Tim laugh, really belly laugh. Probably before Kon died, at least. It was good to hear the beginning of it now. "Yeah, I guess."

"Keeping that in mind," Bruce agreed, a degree of amused warmth to his voice now, "attempting to clone Conner was... irresponsible, dangerous and unethical. I understand that you were grieving, but I also recognize that your impulse control could use some serious adjustment. What were you thinking, using any sort of equipment Ra's al Ghul provided you with?"

There was the squeak of leather as Tim shifted in his chair. "He was the only one willing to help me. I took what I could get, at that point."

"And the fact that it was him offering you that help... that didn't tell you anything about how moral your endeavors were?"

"He didn't offer help with that. Not at first. Just finding you. And then when I exchanged favors with him, he provided the equipment as an incentive to help him more. And I mean, I was right, wasn't I?" Tim remarked. "About you at least. He was the only one who was providing resources and leads, at least til Clark came back and started banging pots and pans until the JL paid attention to us. As for the- the, um, cloning thing...."

Tim turned silent, and Bruce let out an agitated breath. "I'm not going to bench you, Tim. Or... do whatever punishment you're imagining right now. I just want to discuss the matter, thoroughly, so that you grasp where you strayed off the path. Understanding and information is more important to me right now than blind punishment. For example, how far had you gotten?"

"A few weeks," Tim said, in a rush. Bruce's stunned silence meant more to Clark than Tim's words. That must be a lot, then. It's not like Clark had understood a lot of the Cadmus notes, when he'd skimmed through them ages ago. Something about a viable period of embryos' survival outside of a body niggled at the back of his head, but the exact number wouldn't come to him. 

"In the tank?" Bruce asked, his interest piqued. 

"Yeah. I had all the research from Cadmus but more recent equipment and enough time to fully grasp it. I hadn't managed fetal stage, yet, before it failed. Still not sure exactly why. A steady, high energy-supply seems to be vital, though, to make sure there aren't too many environmental changes, even outside of the tank. The fluctuations in Gotham's electrical grid didn't mesh with the tank is my biggest guess."

"The high energy usage was what led us to Cadmus in the first place. And Metropolis is newer than Gotham. They don't have the same amount of patching in their grid," Bruce mused. "Adds up. It never struck you that maybe this was going a little overboard?"

"You became Batman when your parents died. Wasn't that going a little overboard?" Tim asked, his tone sharp and defensive. 

"If you listen to Alfred, _yes_. I don't regret my choices, though."

"Well, neither do I," Tim said defiantly. Bruce seemed to mull this over for a moment. 

"Alright. Is your lab fully shut down, now?"

"Yeah. The tank's still there, but it's got good security. I don't think anybody who shouldn't have it will get their hands on it." 

"Nobody should have it, Tim. You, if anyone, would know what Con-"

"I know Kon would've hated it, Bruce!" Tim snapped, cutting him off "I know. You don't have to tell me. I _know_. Leave it alone, already."

"I _can't_ leave it alone, Tim. Kon wasn't here for you, and neither was I, and I don't blame you for seeking comfort where you could, but you knew it was wrong. You wouldn't have let Clark find out, if you didn't know you shouldn't be doing it."

"I didn't _let_ -" 

"You left him on the list of admittances," Bruce said firmly. "You wiped Dick, Jason, and Damian off the _records_. As in, no digital presence of them, at all, in your systems. But you left Clark in. You left me in. Maybe you didn't register it in your grief, but you knew what you were doing." Bruce's statement was met with silence, and Clark imagined that they were just staring at each other, the kind of intense looks Bruce traded with all of his Robins, no matter their age or current insignia. 

"Do you actually think you and Jason are done fighting with each other?" Tim asked speculatively. Clark would probably never manage to fully follow his brilliant bats in conversation entirely. He was sure there were connections being made between topics, but he always had to do mental gymnastics to attempt to follow. This was definitely one of those times, though Bruce didn't even take a moment to reflect before replying.

"Hopefully. I don't think we'll get around to having another rift breaking out again, at least. I have no doubt we'll have spats, as we did when he was younger, but that's the nature of our relationship - argumentative. Diana has, in the past, remarked that the only people I seem to want around are the ones who will bicker with me endlessly."

"That kind of adds up. Except with Clark. You guys don't bicker that much."

Bruce chuckled, and Clark smiled to himself, focusing on the tv in front of him to make sure there wasn't something horribly sad going on. He and Bruce, not bicker? Hilarious, really. "Interesting take. Haven't you been on a JL mission with us?"

"A billion years ago, maybe. You fight during JL missions?"

"Not fight. _Bicker_. There's a distinctive difference. And Clark has strategies I don't agree would work, a lot of the time, but which others seem to find very appealing for no good reason. Things well worth bickering about." 

Clark could practically see Bruce shaking his head, just thinking on some of Clark's ideas. Look, he's not the brains of this outfit, and he knows it, alright? Doesn't mean a guy can't try to put something out there every now and then. And sometimes Bruce's ideas are stupid and self-sacrificial to the extreme. Other superheroes than Bruce _can_ do the job right, despite what his partner might think. 

"I guess. Jason does bicker, a lot. Especially with people he seems to care about. I once overheard him exclusively snap at Roy over a ten minute phone call, and then the two of them laughing like they were having the time of their lives before hanging up." Tim's tone was fondly exasperated, to Clark's giddy surprise. Yes, understandings between his kids gave him infinite joy nowadays. 

Bruce, too, seemed to like it, from his tone. "Very Jason positive now, are we?" 

Tim's hoodie shifted in what Clark assumed was a shrug. "More than before, at least. He has a different, illuminating point of view from mine on a lot of topics. Especially emotions."

"Yes. It's a shame he prefers anger to any other emotion."

Tim tsked. "Maybe he's got his reasons."

That was a loaded statement, and Bruce paused, regrouping. "Yes, I suppose he does. You know, Tim, it's never been on you to... fix me. You know that, right? You've been a great help and you've been... an amazing partner and son for all the time that we've had you in our lives. Your devotion to finding me is the only reason I'm here right now, and I... love and appreciate you very much. But it wasn't your job to fix me, after Jason."

"It kind of was," Tim disagreed, his heart beating fast at Bruce's words but not acknowledging them any other way. "I mean, wanting you to be less violent meant... well, fixing you a bit."

"Consider it done," Bruce said firmly, shifting gears in his head. "If that's- Yes, consider it done. I'm fixed of that particular affliction. Now let me give you a hand with that, too."

"I don't know if I think you're very fixed," Tim said in a heavily skeptic tone of voice. "Besides, what's that supposed to mean, let you give me a hand?"

Clark could practically hear Bruce roll his eyes. "I know I'm screwed up, Tim. I'm reminded on a nightly basis. I've also honed my mental capacity to deal with that through meditation, and other strategies taught to me by monks and healers of all kinds. You never had that, and that's a failing on my part, not yours. Dick and Jason are... different, from you and I. They have this ability to just... not let things haunt them. Of course, they too have their hang ups, but there's just.... something they have, which the two of us naturally don't. Sometimes, I see too much of myself in you, and it terrifies me, because without Clark to balance me out from a young age, I don't think I would have become as well-adjusted as I am today."

"Ironic. What with your current degree of well-adjustment, I mean," Tim said, his voice shaky, and Bruce let out a short laugh. 

"Yes. I got it, Tim. And when I first met him, I hadn't even gone through the kinds of things you have, already. You're just so young, Tim, and I-" He took a deep breath. "I don't want to have set you up for failure just because I didn't teach you when it's time to reach out for help." There was the crinkling of paper as Bruce smoothed out a note of some sort, and then the smack as he put it down with force on some surface. "Talk to Dinah. She has the credentials, and you can speak freely to her. I... I promise that I will reign in my need to know things and leave whatever records she writes alone. I don't want you to worry about that, at least. However, whatever you wish to share with me, you may, of course."

"Have you ever been to therapy?" Tim asked suspiciously. 

"No. Though I know you went for a while, as a child. Dr. Kelsey, correct?"

"Yeah," Tim said, his voice hard. 

"This is not me attempting to distance myself from you. You are not seven years old and I am not Jack Drake. You are not crazy, and I've never thought so. This is, however, not really a negotiation. You don't actually have any good leverage here."

"Why can't you just teach me your techniques?" Tim asked, a surprisingly whiny quality to his voice. 

"I am... not the poster boy for healthy coping, as Clark points out frequently and loudly. Just as I had to send you to other teachers during your training, I cannot help you with this. But I will support you. I'm not going to... take away Red Robin, unless Dinah strongly advises it. I don't want you to consider this a punishment, because it isn't. Think of it as another aspect of your training. Of... dealing with how we live. You do it exceptionally well, of course, but you've had a lot on your plate recently and this, whatever this is, is _not_ coping. If you would just... try it. Give Dinah's methods a chance. Take the life-line I'm offering you here. Please." 

Tim swallowed hard. Bruce doled out his pleases sparingly, and Clark had always thought it was a bit callous of him, but he was the disciplinary parent out of the two of them, so Clark kept his mouth shut about it. It did make the few pleases he tossed out there more powerful. "Okay," Tim agreed quietly. Bruce let out a relieved breath, and Clark mirrored it, relaxing in his seat. He'd honestly wondered if he would be able to enforce any kind of therapy without Bruce's backing.

"Thank you. Is it too soon to ask what you think of Damian as Robin?" Bruce asked, the creaking of the computer chair indicating that he'd leaned back, now that the serious part of the conversation was over. 

" _Way_ too soon," Tim said, but he sounded like he was only half serious. Bruce seemed to notice this too. 

"Alright, then. I dont want to ask something of you that you wouldn't want to do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, that Dick hasn't been Robin for... oh, a good few years. Neither has Jason. And I wouldn't want for him to get Dick's need for unnecessary acrobatics, just because he's been around him too long. Or Jason's foul-mouthed sense of humor."

Clark could almost hear Tim's jaw drop to the floor. "You want me to act as his _mentor_? Are you a pod person? Did you lose your senses when you shifted through time? What on _earth_ -"

"I should hope someone would've noticed by now if I _was_ a pod person, or else I'd be quite disappointed in you all," Bruce scoffed. "And I have all my senses well in hand. It was only a suggestion. Haven't you seen his Robin suit? It's quite similar to some of your iterations."

"Because Dick and Jason's suits violated health and safety regulations! You can't honestly think he likes me."

"Respects, was the word I was going for, actually. You know how the league works, especially if you've been getting attention from Ra's al Ghul recently. Damian tried to kill you, and he put poison on his blade to do it."

Tim hesitated. "Why are you trying to make that sound like a compliment?"

"Erase any other fact you know about Damian, that isn't him being considered a higher up warrior in the league. Now what does that poison signify?"

Tim was silent for a moment. "You think he was unsure he'd be able to kill me with just the sword? He thought I could beat him when it got down to it. Either that, or he's a coward."

"I think we can both agree that Damian is no coward," Bruce said, an amused tilt to his voice. "You have well-deserved resentment built up towards him. Consider what part of your hate is actually motivated by these well-deserved reasons, and what parts aren't. I'd also like to add, for your consideration, the fact that he's ten years old. Are you the same person you were when you walked into this manor the first time?"

"Well no. But-"

"Time passes. People change, Tim. You've changed too, since he attacked you."

"You have to _want_ to change." 

Bruce clicked his tongue disapprovingly, a noise that was purely Alfred's brand of chiding discipline. "Sometimes, you just have to grow up a bit. And it's as simple as that. There are certain circumstances that force you to change, no matter if you want to or not. I think we both have a bit too much instinctual resentment built up towards anything even close to the League of Assassins. Out of Ra's and Damian, I can tell you exactly who deserves that suspicion, and who doesn't. I know my initial reaction to Damian was a bit mellow-"

"You were in your rights. Jason was throwing a fit. Damian was spewing homophobic bull every time he opened his mouth," Tim pointed out. "He's still a jackass, even now. Though I suppose Jason's gotten better."

"Mm. Damian is _learning_. That's what life is about. Getting to grow up and find your place. I think you and Damian have a lot more in common than either of you would like to admit."

"Like what?"

"You're both artists. Prefer staffs as weapons. Drink your tea the same way, when you manage to put your coffee aside. You've both lost your father young, had a lot of pressure on you to be perfect from a young age..." Clark could see, just listening to Bruce's forcibly casual tone, the way that he shrugged when he paused. "I'm not saying he doesn't have a sharp tongue on occasion, because he does. And you are well within your rights to dislike him for such things. I'm not saying that the biggest 'fuck you' we could ever flip Talia and Ra's would be to reform Damian's more violent tendencies, but..."

"It sure wouldn't hurt," Tim said, a cocky Robin-tilt to his voice. 

"No. It really wouldn't," Bruce agreed with the same smirky tone. However, it didn't continue for very long. "He wants me to ask Dick to stay."

Tim sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Good in theory, I suppose. I just know that whenever you and Dick remain under the same roof for too long, firecrackers start going off. Even when you like each other. I think it gets better the longer you're apart, really, but... it still happens. And with Jason here, I feel he'd just like to stoke the flames and watch the show. Seems like something that'd only benefit Damian and piss everyone else off. Dick would do it, at least until he couldn't take it anymore, and then he'd take off in the night and just upset everyone."

"No win situation, here?"

Tim made a popping sound with his mouth as he thought. "Well-"

"I got an idea," came Jason's voice from somewhere in their vicinity. Clark restrained a jerk at the sound of him, but Tim and Bruce seemed to have sensed him coming. Stupid bats and their radars. 

"You're weirdly attentive and communicative recently, Jase," Tim said, his hand smacking into contact with what was probably Jason's thigh, from the sound of it. "Wanna admit you have a bleeding heart already, or will there be an actual official announcement with cake to celebrate?"

"Bite me, Timbo," Jason said sweetly. 

"Boys," Bruce said, clearly exasperated. "What can we do for you, Jason?" 

"Oh, nothin' much." Jason popped something into his mouth, probably gum, from the sticky, gooey sound of it. "Wanna hear what I think you should do?"

"Sure," Bruce said in a measured tone. 

"I think, that you and Dick should act as if you're divorced with a child. Awful, weird visual, yes, I know, but hear me out: split custody." Clark could practically see Jason's little jazz hands as he said the words. "Dick comes to the manor on the weekends, calls during the week. Maybe takes Damian over to his place when there's no patrol. Set it up so he gradually stops feeling like Dick's his dad, instead of you, but don't actually snatch away his safety net in one fell swoop. Because that'll just make him hate you, which I'm assuming isn't the outcome you were going for?"

"Could work," Tim hummed thoughtfully. "Damian gets his dose of overbearing older brother Dick, and Robin. Dick doesn't have to assume all responsibility, and also the two of you don't have to remain in the same house for more than a few days at a time. Dick gets his independence, and you won't make Clark cry, which is always a plus."

"Strange arrangement, I suppose. But then again, when aren't we a bit strange?" Bruce mused. There was the creak of a computer chair again, and Jason ruffling Tim's hair. He'd probably leaned over the back of Tim's chair, then. 

"Literally never," Jason said. "Seriously, make pops cry on threat of _death_."

"Jason," Bruce sighed. 

"How'd you come up with it?" Tim asked, curious note to his voice. 

"In Scandinavian countries, who've got better equality laws than the US, kids generally do actual split custody when their parents get divorced. Like, one week they stay at parent A's place, and the next at parent B's. I thought that was a little excessive though, what with Dickface having no real claim to Damian except for temporary guardian for about nine months, something which has now been waived since B is back. And also the whole thing is he doesn't actually _want_ the full responsibility of taking care of a kid, as weirdly grown up as that kid is. Though I wouldn't want to be the asshole who keeps Little D from his Grayson, either," Jason explained. 

"See? Big picture," Bruce said, after a moment of silence. 

Tim hummed. "I gotcha."

"What are you two old gossipy hags talking about?" Jason asked suspiciously. 

"The fact that you're a little bitch," Tim said primly, in a brilliant riposte. Jason snorted. 

"Oh yeah? Them's fightin' words, Timmy my boy. Get on the mats. Your eyes are gonna go square if you stare at this screen for too long, and I'd love to see you try and fit _that_ into your stupid cowl," Jason said. The rattling of plastic wheels on stone suggested Tim and his chair were being kidnapped. 

"B!" Tim said exasperatedly. 

"You heard Jaybird," Bruce said fondly. "Them's fightin' words. Though I disagree. Your cowl is not stupid."

"It makes him look like a condom head!" Jason protested, and there was a plasticky smack as Tim hopped onto the mats with bare feet. 

"Says the guy who wore a legit tampon helmet for weeks!" Tim exclaimed back, accompanied by the sound of flesh meeting flesh through fabric. 

"Good grief," Bruce muttered under his breath, and Clark had to restrain his own snicker, tuning back into the movie only to feel Dick's inquisitive eyes wandering on the side of his face. Shoot.

\--- 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chap before speed up times again, when things will start GOIN DOWN again lol. So take this fluff and sap to tide you over :)  
> Thank you so much for your kind comments and sweet support! I've realized that I only have about three more "events" plotted out for this story, which will, if I know myself right, take only about....oh.... forty more chapters lmao.  
> Also Holy crap I just realized we hit 1000 KUDOS GOODNESS GOSH THANK YOU!!! you're too kind!!  
> Now! Hope you enjoy! <3

Clark had become used to being _observed_ , in his time living at the Wayne manor. The lot of them were intense, focused individuals, and that meant being watched a lot. Clark had never really minded. There was never ill intent in these gazes, as there might be from a rubber-necking crowd gathered around Superman.

It also meant he pretty much didn't recognize when he was being watched, a lot of the time. He was just so used to Bruce staring at his face when focused on something else, or Dick glancing up at his face to see if he could get some attention. Alfred had observed him warily in the beginning, when he knew Clark had been the one to endanger Bruce's secret identity a few months back. And when he was little, Jason was watching his hands a lot, and Tim had always zoned out with his eyes pinned to Clark or Bruce's person, because they were conveniently close and wouldn't snap their fingers to get him out of it. Damian watched him suspiciously a lot now, too, though it had become less and less frequent the latest few months. Really, how was Clark supposed to focus if he didn't tune their staring out?

He was doing it now, reading his book in the library, waiting for Alfred to bring up tea. Jason had offered to help, but had been shooed off, so now he was playing with Ace on the floor, using a myriad of toys she kept bringing him. Bruce and Tim were typing on their phones in the couch to Clark's right, dicussing WE business in such a rapt way that they finished each other's sentences. Dick was sitting on the couch next to him, with Damian on the floor in front of him, arms crossed in front of his chest.

It was Damian staring this time. Clark might be good at tuning it out, but Dick wasn't. Or maybe it was the fact that Damian kept glancing, out of the corner of his eye, and turning his head just a tad when he did it.

"You okay, Little D? You keep turning your head. Crick in your neck, or what?" Dick asked, leaning forward so he could see Damian's face better. 

"Nothing," Damian said, but there was something about his tone.... Bruce looked up. 

"What's on your mind, Damian?" he asked, pinning him with his stare. Clark wondered if he should try and jump in, because that was exactly what he _wasn't_ supposed to do with Damian. Put him on the spot, corner him with that voice and that look. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, the way Dick's lips pursed in displeasure. 

Surprisingly, Damian just shrugged, caving under Bruce's overbearingness easily. "Well. I was considering... the family structure, as it is today," he said, pouting a little as he thought. It was ridiculously adorable, and very decidedly a Bruce-look, though with Talia's fuller lips. 

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean, our little space cadet?" Jason asked, a confounded grin on his face. He loved debating things with Damian.

"Well it isn't really the nuclear family, now, is it?" Damian pointed out, lips pursed. 

"What, married straight couple with two and a half kids and a picket fence? No. I think we're more like... Brady-bunch sized, actually," Jason said, tossing a bright pink tennis ball for Ace. "Kids need a stable home more than anything else. If your parents are straight or no, married or not, as long as they're in the same place, not constantly fighting, et cetera. There's a lot of research on moms and dads handling infants diffrently, but I'm pretty sure that discrepancy could be fixed with a little bit of oh, emotional involvment in your kids from an early age." 

"Studies show that children with same-sex parents do better in primary and secondary school than kids with different sex parents," Bruce added. "And that children from same-sex homes become no less successful or happy than their straight-home counterparts." 

Clark felt that this was his time to tune in, so he closed his book, looking up at his partner. "As only children, both of us, we did discuss having a bigger family, after a while of having just our sunshine over here," Clark smiled, nudging Dick's side and getting a grin in return. "Though I don't think we ever imagined we'd amass as many kids as we have so far."

"No, I suppose not," Bruce said, a soft smile quirking his lips beautifully. 

"I think untraditional families are pretty cool, actually," Dick piped up, smiling when Damian turned dubious eyes on him. "At the circus, I had what felt like an infinite amount of aunts and uncles, and then when I was here, I was living with Alfred, essentially our grandpa. I think we're pretty dang far from the nuclear family in a lot of ways. Numbers and ages being the biggest factors, I guess, but that's what makes us the coolest family of all. Would we even fit into one of those big family vans?" Dick asked, turning to look at Bruce.

"Barely," he said, tilting his head. A tightening around his jaw was the only indication of grief as he counted dark-haired heads in the room. "Now we would, at least."

"The only thing we're _really_ lacking is some diversity," Tim said, his tone bored as he slouched against the armrest. "Gender and otherwise."

"Don't listen to him, baby, you're the only girl for me in this household," Jason murmured into Ace's fur, and Tim rolled his eyes dramatically. Ace just licked Jason's hand. 

"Honestly, we could use more girls now that Barbara is running her own operation. Stephanie was the only spark of life in this place after her," Dick joked, and Tim tipped his head back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. 

"She was a good spark indeed," Bruce agreed, eyes flicking to Tim briefly. "Though I don't think we're considering expanding anytime soon, for the record."

"Well, I don't know about that," Dick said, giving a teasing grin. "I remember you said 'no more' after Jase, and look how well that went."

"You said no more after me?" Jason gasped, turning around to gape theatrically at Bruce. "I was an angel of a child, I'll have you know!"

"Quite literally, dead boy," Tim muttered. Bruce raised his eyes to their ceiling, shaking his head. 

Jason grinned like a loon at Tim, wiggling his eyebrows. "Good pun, bastard. I'll give you that one." 

"I think we're quite done for now though, yes?" Clark asked, raising his eyebrows at his partner. 

"Definitely, darling," Bruce said, but Clark would never take that promise seriously, probably ever, in his life. He knew that one day, he'd hear Bruce have _that_ tone and he'd be helping Alfred set up another bedroom. It was the thrill of being eternally bound to someone like Bruce. Clark didn't actually mind one bit. 

"Yeaaah," Jason said, obviously a little skeptical himself. "Though, again, if they'd actually stopped at two, none of you suckers would make the cut. It was pretty sweet, y'know, when it was just the two of us, eh Dickiebird?"

"You've got rose-colored glasses on, Little Wing," Dick said, his voice fond as he leaned against the armrest as well so they could meet eyes over Damian's head. "We were both supremely mad at each other all the time out of costume. Pretty sure you ruined my original Game Boy forever when you dunked it in the pool because I pissed you off _once_."

Jason smacked his lips. "Okay, true. But you were being an ass-wipe, what was I supposed to do?"

"Not that," Bruce said, his eyes distant as he thought back. "Pretty sure we grounded you for that."

"Nope," Clark said, laying his book on the side table next to him. "We were gonna have the pool drained and cleaned anyway, so he had to hop in and help scrub it out. Grout-cleaned the mosaic, as I recall."

"Ah yes. The Kansas way of punishment. More chores," Bruce agreed, leaning back to cross his legs with an amused glint to his eyes. "Learned your lesson, did you, Jason?"

"Nope," Jason said proudly with a wide grin. "Though I'm sure I didn't ruin any more of Dick's game boys."

"'Cause I only had the one!" Dick protested. "Jackass." 

"I guess you're the only two who actually grew up with each other," Tim said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean, Tim? _We_ grew up together."

Tim waved off Dick's indignance. "I mean, in the sense of both being pretty young and hanging around here at the same time. And you were way older than me when I began spending time in the cave, and you certainly didn't live here."

"You and Damian are growing up together," Bruce pointed out. 

"Most unwillingly," Damian said, loud and clear. Tim made a face, but it was a bit theatrical on both of their parts, in Clark's opinion. He doubted they despised each other as much as they kept claiming, but that was just his gut feeling, he supposed. 

"That's what being siblings is like, Damian," Jason said, curling an arm around Ace fondly. "You grow up together, you hate each other a little bit, you mess with each other's stuff...."

"Maybe you give each other a ugly haircut a few times, hop into a giant pile of hay together, take out some bad guys..." Dick said, trailing off with a shrug. "'S not so bad all the time. Even when they drive you nuts, they're still your sibling."

"I guess," Tim said thoughtfully. "Jason hasn't ruined any of _my_ stuff." 

"Oh Timmy, my boy, it's no fun beating someone who's already down," Jason sighed, laying back on the carpet with his hands behind his head. Ace curled into his side, jamming her face into the side of his neck. "Just you wait."

The door to the library opened, and Alfred came through with a cart, filled with biscuits and sandwiches and cups of tea. Their discussion lapsed while they divided out tea cups and chewed on sandwiches. Ace planted her butt right between Clark's legs, because he had folded _once_ and given her a scrap of sandwich. Never again, or Bruce would never let him hear the end of it. 

"How do surrogates fit into the whole untraditional families thing?" Tim asked out loud, but from the way he looked at Jason, it was probably not a general question.

"Kind of do, kind of don't. The whole point with a surrogate is that you want a baby incubator, not another parent or anything. It's actually sorta awful on one hand, since a lot of poor women sell their bodies for that purpose," Jason said, biting into a biscuit. "Kind of cool, on the other hand, that you can help couples who want kids make said kids. Though, with the amount of kids in foster care, I dunno why you'd keep making more of them."

"Some people aren't equipped for the challenges that taking care of foster kids present," Bruce pointed out, sipping his tea with his pinkie just the tiniest bit extended. 

Jason huffed. "Maybe they shouldn't be parents at all then." 

"If I had a womb, and you wanted a baby, I'd totally carry it for you, Jase. It's about love, too, y'know?" Dick said, pointing to him with a half-eaten biscuit.

"Awful, awful image in my head, Dick," Jason said, shaking his head. "No thank you."

"Not that I think it's gonna happen overnight exactly, but isn't the whole point of foster care that you're supposed to give the bio-parents a chance to clean up their act so they can take their kids back? What about when they _do_ get their shit together?" Tim asked. 

"That's got to be heartbreaking, having to give up kids that you've had for a while," Clark said. "I know I would've been devastated if you'd gone home after those first two weeks, Jase."

"Yeah, well," Jason said, a light blush tingeing his neck. "I didn't have any good parents to go back to, anyway."

"If foster parents are more stable than your biological parents, then you shouldn't have to go back. Safe and stable environment for kids, right?" Tim continued. 

"But keeping kids from their biological parents isn't great either," Dick pointed out. "Sometimes, it's for the best, but that can cause so much other trouble, for the kid especially."

"I guess. Surrogacy, biological parents- I mean, in the end, all kids have gotta get into this world some way, right?"

"I was gestated in an artificial womb," Damian said casually and bit into his sandwich, like that wasn't the most mindblowing thing Clark had heard all day. Tim, too, blinked in surprise. The only one who didn't seem shaken by this statement was Jason, who pursed his lips in thought. 

" _Excuse_ me?" Clark asked. "Artificial womb?"

"Mother didn't have time to be pregnant with me, and yet she needed an heir. Hence, artificial womb." Damian shrugged. Dick gaped. 

"She just chucked you into thermal-controlled plastic bag for nine months, or what?" Jason questioned, eyebrows furrowed. 

"Glass ball, I believe," Damian said, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Advanced technology. You've been to that compound, Todd. You know the room with the low set pool?" When Jason nodded with a real disturbed look on his face, Damian gave an incline of his head back. "I was released from the artificial womb into that pool. Or, I suppose, 'birthed' in that pool." He did little citation marks and everything. Clark was honestly too baffled to admire how cute it was. 

"That... explains a lot, actually," Bruce said, his head tilted to the side. Same angle as Damian, though they were both too focused on other things to notice. 

"No wonder you're such an asshole. You can't possibly have been held enough as a baby if your mom didn't even carry you around for your required gestational period. I feel like this sheds a whole new light on you," Tim said decisively. 

Dick wrapped his arms around Damian's shoulders, pulling him back into a half-hug, what with him sitting on the floor. "That's so sad, Dami! We've got to compensate, right this second. Pop, give me a hand. Jase, you too!"

"Grayson!" Damian complained loudly, but was quickly wrapped up in Jason's arms from the front, and Clark's from the side. He wiggled fiercely in their arms, but Jason and Dick had him pinned down good, and Clark felt brave enough that he pressed a kiss to the tip of Damian's adorable little ear, and then a kiss each on Dick and Jason too, for good measure. 

Bruce watched them with warm eyes, and tilted his head at Tim, who scowled back. "Come on," he said, his voice amused. "You heard the man."

Tim sighed, but slid down on the floor, just as Bruce sank down between Jason and Clark, wrapping strong arms around them both. Tim was squished in between Dick and Jason, surrounding Damian in a family circle. Ace thought this was very peculiar of them, and attempted to get to the center of the huddle. She squeezed until her head was squished between Jason and Tim's sides, her nose bumping up against Damian's hand, where he still had a little bit of sandwich left. 

"Family hugs!" Dick crowed delightedly, squeezing the back of Tim's neck. Jason snorted, attempting to spit a bit of Damian's hair out of his mouth. 

"I don't think we'll ever be able to make up for it entirely," Tim pointed out with a frown. "That's the whole point of being held enough as a _baby_."

"We can try," Clark said serenly, enjoying the scents and the warmth of his favorite people mixed together. 

"You really don't-" Damian began, his voice flustered.

"Shush," Bruce said firmly.

"We kinda do," Jason said, glancing at Bruce out of the corner of his eye when Bruce ruffled his hair. "And the saying can also be 'held enough as a child'. And I think we can all agree that Damian is a child."

There was a chorus of 'yes'es, and Damian bared his teeth, but didn't actually attempt to rebutt it, for once. He was probably just a bit overwhelmed. Clark wondered if he'd ever had this much physical contact with people at the same time, outside of fighting. 

"That's what family is for," Clark declared, and got an appreciative nod from Dick. 

"Soccer mom van and everything," he grinned. 

"Yeah. Sometimes a family is just your dead brother, your undead brother, your crazy brother, your older brother-slash-dad, your distant, psycho mom, your bio dad, and his eternal boyfriend Clark, and that's enough," Jason said, trying to be funny and reassuring at the same time. Damian frowned at the people he could see, but his ears were almost entirely red with embarrassment at that point. 

Clark could see how Tim twitched at 'crazy', and pursed his lips. "You know who I think needs an extra hug right now, too?" he asked, meeting eyes with Tim across from the pile. 

"Who?" Jason demanded, bumping his chin against Damian's forehead when he considered him paralyzed enough from embarrassment. Really, this was probably as still as Clark had ever seen the boy. Except for maybe when Alfred the Cat decided to take a nap in his lap. 

"Our favorite Timmy."

"You got it. Pops' orders, come on, _git'm_ ," Jason said, uncurling from around Damian to tackle Tim to the floor in a bear hug. He let out a surprised oof when his back hit the carpeted floor. Ace let out a playful, short bark, and attempted to lick Tim in the face, getting Jason quite a bit too. 

"Gentle!" Clark protested as Dick rolled off the couch to curl around the side of Jason and Tim, wrapping an arm tightly around them both. 

"You're crushing me, you giant," Tim protested, jamming his right knee up against Jason's hip. But his left hand was placed tentatively on Jason's right shoulder-blade. Dick pressed a loud, smacking kiss to the top of Tim's tousled head, grinning when Tim frowned. 

"I'm a perfect beefcake, I'll have you know," Jason declared, dropping down further and making Tim let out another oof. 

"Yeah, Timmy, don't make Jason self-conscious here," Dick beamed. 

When the attention was no longer on him, it seemed Damian had come back to himself a little. Clark could see a mischievous glint in hieyes as he rolled into a crouch. He leapt into the air, spreading his arms so he'd land with maxium impact on top of his brothers. Clark used a burst of super-speed to grab him out of the air before he could land.

"Gentle, Dames, gentle," Clark said softly, placing a surprised Damian down on Jason's back like a chastised kitten. 

Jason bonked his head back against Damian. "Hey, getting in on this love-fest, are we?"

"No," Damian protested, but didn't attempt to get off. 

"I'm being smothered. Are you just gonna watch me die, B? After all I've done for you?" Tim asked, wiggling the one hand that hadn't been captured by Dick. 

"No," Bruce agreed. 

Then, to everyone's surprise, he too sank down on the other side of the kids, wrapping his arm around all three he could reach. His large palm, spread over Damian's back, looked cartoonishly large in comparison. Clark grinned so wide his face hurt, when Bruce dropped a kiss on Tim's head as well, though not as loud as Dick's had been. 

"Better?" he asked Tim, who stared at Bruce with large eyes, looking suddenly a lot younger. 

"Well," he said slowly. "I'm still being smothered. If anything, you just added to the smother."

"I'll bail you out in a second. Clark?" Bruce asked, without looking up from Tim. "Why are you in the air?"

Clark was too overjoyed to startle. He felt no guilt whatsoever. "No reason."

"Any pictures you take should be taken on the ground. For superhero identity reasons," Bruce pointed out, looking up at where Clark was hovering with his phone in hand. 

"I won't make it my screen saver, I promise," he said, snapping a few pics from above.

"Okay, I'm about to start flipping Jason like a pancake. Vacate or die," Tim said firmly. 

"Such dramatics," Dick laughed, dragging Damian off to his side of the pile. Bruce pulled Jason off to his side, and Clark got front row seats to Tim's lightly flushed cheeks as he rolled to his feet, hiding his face from the other bats. 

"I don't know about you, but I don't like my tea cold," Tim said pointedly as Clark sank back to the ground, stretching out a hand towards his partner. 

"Such theatrics, too," Jason complained, rolling over to his stomach and military crawling over to the coffee table, where his tea and biscuit rested. 

"Tim has a point. Tea does go cold awfully fast," Bruce agreed, taking Clark's hand and the kiss he was offered when he was standing again. 

"You want a hand too, or are you staying on the floor to snuggle?" Clark asked, looking to Damian and Dick. 

"I want tea," Damian demanded, but didn't actually try to break free from Dick's arms. 

"Alright then. Dick, let the boy up," Bruce said, reaching his hand out towards Damian. 

There was a flicker of a strange look on Dick's face at his dad's words, and he nuzzled into Damian's hair for a moment, before unwrapping his arms so the boy could grab Bruce's hand. Bruce nudged Damian to steal Clark's seat on the couch now that he could, while Clark watched their oldest sit up and curl an arm around his knee. 

"C'mon sunshine," Clark said gently. "Let me give you a hand, too." 

Dick looked up at him, blinking out of his funk. He gave Clark a frail smile, but let himself be pulled to his feet. They squeezed in on the remaining loveseat together, where Dick was soon all smiles again. Clark kept that flicker of a look in mind, though, storing it in the back of his mind for a later time.

\--- 

The next day, Clark was listening to Jason patiently attempting to teach Damian how to boil an egg. For what purpose, he wasn't entirely sure. It wasn't like Damian was going to make his own food anytime soon, what with being ten and under Alfred's roof, and he wasn't a huge fan of eggs so far either. Then again... Maybe Dick should be paying attention to this lesson, as well. He was still asleep, however. It was almost noon. 

The only reason Jason and Damian were up was because of their run. Bruce had joined them, today. For nostalgia reasons, he claimed. Jason hadn't protested as profusely as everyone thought he was going to. It was mostly Jason-and-Damian bonding time, so for that to be interrupted, there had to be good reasons. Maybe Jason was just trying to be helpful. Maybe he too was feeling nostalgic. 

At the click of the door closing, Clark blinked his eyes back into focus, to find his partner leaning against the door with a strange look on his face. Speak of the devil. Or think of him, in this case.

"Hi Bruce. What's up?" he asked, putting his tablet to the side. 

"We need to have an unpleasant conversation," Bruce said, walking into the room like he was going to battle. Clark's eyebrows raised. 

"Do we now? Does it have to be unpleasant?"

Bruce pursed his lips, sitting down on the couch next to his lone chair, leaning against his knees. "It doesn't have to be. But from experience concerning arguing with you, I'm assuming it's going to be unpleasant."

"Oh we're up to arguing now, are we?" 

Bruce sighed. "I don't want it to get to that, but much evidence points to that happening, yes."

"Evidence, he says. Interesting," Clark said, furrowing his eyebrows. "Alright. Spit it out, then." 

Bruce seemed more hesitant than usual, focusing on clasping his hands between his legs in an unusually fiddly motion.

Then, he looked up, only to lock eyes with Clark.

"You don't need to worry," he said, his voice calm and slow. "We're all okay. Me and the boys, Alfred... We're fine. We're here. You need to stop with the eavesdropping, Clark. We're _good_. Better than we've been in ages, even."

"I don't do it that often," Clark protested, feeling a little panicky already. Oh yeah. Unpleasant alright. 

"It's all the time, Clark, and it needs to stop. You're the one that always pushed for our kids to have private lives, be allowed their secrets, and how I shouldn't be so overbearing. It concerns me that you've changed your attitude so drastically."

"Aren't you happy about it?" Clark snarked, feeling cornered by Bruce's calm, understanding eyes. "You finally get it your way."

Bruce shook his head. "This is a coping mechanism, and an intrusive one. If I was the only one who knew about it, I wouldn't care as much, but the kids know. Dick and Tim see you space out, and you brought up something in conversation you hadn't talked to Jason about, but that Jason had spoken to Damian about in another room. We've just had way too many arguments in the past about me being a helicopter parent for me to let this go. I don't like to see you abandon your principles, Kal. That's all."

"You like that I keep you in line, huh?" Clark asked, tilting his head. 

The corners of Bruce's lips twitched, and he dipped his head. "You're deflecting. It actually reinforces my concerns more than anything else. Wipe that look off your face. I'm serious, Clark."

"Hi serious, I'm-" 

" _Kal_." Bruce's eyes were intent on him. "I'm worried about you. You complain that I don't tell you things about my safety and sanity, and then you turn around and do the same thing to me. Come on."

Clark pressed his lips together, but intertwined their fingers when Bruce reached a strong hand out towards him. "I don't know why I can't... I just want to know they're okay, y'know? That you're here with me. All of you."

Bruce sighed. "It's a grim reality that one day we won't be, darling. I'm not going to tell you it'll be alright forever. Just... Right now. This second. We're all here and we're fine. And you need to stop eavesdropping."

"I don't think I can," Clark explained simply, letting Bruce pull him over next to him on the couch, into his side. Clark stared unseeingly at their interlocked hands, brushing his thumb over callouses he knew intimately on autopilot. "I know we live a dangerous life and that we chose it with eyes open, but losing Jason was rough enough when I had you. Losing Kon, too, was... devastating, but losing _you_... I don't know if I'll ever recover, even with you right here with me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to shake off that fear that one of you is missing, isn't _here_. It's so much easier to just... listen in. I just don't want to be left behind." 

Bruce watched him with a thoughtful look on his face. "I think I understand. As best as I can. But as much as I know you would love to wrap me and the kids in bubble wrap, you know we wouldn't be happy like that. Not now, when we know what it's like. When we know what we can do. I think... Hm."

"What?" Clark asked, looking over at his partner. 

Bruce smiled, the sad one that made him look much older than he was. It was also achingly loving, and he stroked a reverent thumb over Clark's jaw. "Well, I can only think of one permanent way to fix your ailment of being left behind."

"Oh?"

"Draw a bath, grab some Kryptonite and a toaster? We'll go out together this time," Bruce said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. 

Clark chuckled, shaking his head. "Stop that. That's too grim and dramatic, even for you."

Bruce slid his arm down to wrap around Clark's waist, reclining so their heads were resting on the back of the stiff, ornamental couch. "Want to know what I really think?"

"What?" Clark asked, turning his head so he could look at the profile of Bruce's face. 

"You need to be Superman, again."

Clark blew out a breath, turning his head back to look up at the ceiling again. "Yeah. I know. I just- it's been hard enough to be... myself recently, y'know? I don't know if I'm really ready to be Superman again."

Bruce hummed. "Do you remember what you've continuously told all of our Robins, when they have their first real injury on patrol?"

Clark wrinkled his eyebrows. "I don't think I've noticed that I say the same thing."

"You do," Bruce said, with an elegant little shrug of one shoulder. "You say 'Fall down seven times. Stand up eight.' Pa told you that."

Clark smiled a bit, nodding. "Yeah. It's a good saying."

Bruce nodded as well. "Alfred has a smiliar saying he said a lot, when I was a kid. 'Why do we fall? So that we can learn to pick ourselves back up.' You've had your flat-as-a-pancake fall already. Now it's time to stand back up."

Clark closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fall down seven times, stand up eight, huh?"

"Attaboy," Bruce murmured. "You could ask Diana to take a fly around the globe with you, searching for trouble. That way you won't be alone up there, either. Oh, and I haven't been on a JL mission in ages, you know. We could piggyback on a junior mission, first, to get back into the swing of things."

"Oh, they always get so nervous when we do that," Clark protested. 

Bruce's smile was a little wicked, reminiscent of Jason's playful grin. "Yes, well. If they can't handle the two of us standing in the background, how are they supposed to handle the villain they're supposed to be fighting? It'll be good practice for them. They really should know better." 

Clark chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose that's true. Isn't it brunch soon?"

"Yes. We should start rousing the troops," Bruce agreed, standing up and giving Clark a hand to his feet as well. 

"You're gonna have to take Tim. I'm not trying that again. He almost kicked my knee out of its socket last time, however that's even possible, in his _sleep_. Honestly, him having kryptonite squirrelled away somewhere in his messy room doesn't sound too crazy, which is crazy in itself," he snorted, making for the door.

Bruce stopped him right before he touched the handle, and spun him around. He had that immensely intense look on his face that he got sometimes, more often now than ever. "As long as I live. As long as I'm here. I'm here with you. Okay?" Bruce said, cupping Clark's face. Clark nodded, a little dumbstruck, and Bruce rested their foreheads against each others'.

"Okay," he agreed softly, brushing a kiss against Bruce's lips. 

"Same with the kids. We're _here_. I'm not even asking you to stop eavesdropping completely. Just... tone it down a bit. Maybe stop listening in on their personal conversations. Actually, no, scratch that. That kind of information could be useful."

Clark rolled his eyes at his partner. "Okay, now you're just trying to get a rise out of me."

"Mm. Is it working?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"A little. You know, you're the best thing to ever happen to me," Clark said sincerely, suddenly struck to the bone with how true it was. "I don't know who I'd be without you."

Bruce stared back at him, all of his considerable focus on Clark. "What about our kids?"

"A nanosecond behind you," Clark promised. "When you make me mad, they're the best thing to have ever happened to me. But right now, right here. It's you." 

Bruce smiled, the sweet, genuine one with teeth that made Clark's heart stutter each and every goddamn time he saw it. "Yes, well. That's what I like to hear, darling."

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hilarious that this chap is about 5400 words and I was like. Huh. That's kinda Short. My old writing coach would probably punch me in the face for thinking that lol whoops sorry Judy <3

**Author's Note:**

> Now. The DC canon is widespread, seeing as it has several different universes, and it spans over several decades with the same characters written by dozens of different people. Even I was confused once or twice when I was trying to research for this fic! Nobody's age makes sense, because how the hell can I squish 80 ish years of canon into roughly ten measly years? This is canon divergent in that Bruce and Clark are publicly dating and that means everything is a little different! If I haven't interpreted the canon the way you want, sorry! I'm not going back to change it! Good lord can I lay off the exclamation points!  
> If you have suggestions for more tags, I'm all ears!


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